The Blood King (37 page)

As he spoke, a lad of a half-dozen summers slipped into the room and sidled up beside him. Tris felt his throat tighten as of the firelight revealed the boy’s face.

A scar ran from the boy’s collarbone to his severed ear, leaving the side of his face puckered and discolored. Carina reached out reflexively for the boy, who shrank back into the shadows.

“When they came back, they brought demons with them. Out of a box wagon, they came. Like dead men walking they were, blind with rage, strik-ing everything in sight. We didn’t know what to make of them, and they killed so many. They left my boy for dead,” the farmer went on. “Burned the village, and took our women and boys anyway. Of one hundred souls, only my boy and I escaped. We wandered the woods like vayash moru until Sakwi found us and brought us here.” He looked back at

the hands he twisted in his lap, hands stained from a lifetime of working the soil and broadened by the plow.

“Thank you,” Sakwi said quietly. He pressed a chunk of meat and a loaf of bread into the man’s hand, and enticed the boy from the shadows with a wedge of cheese so that Carina could heal his wounds. She worked for over a candlemark to restore the boy’s hearing, relieve the pain of the badly healed wound, and lessen the scarring that marred his face. When she was finished, after pro-fuse thanks, the farmer led the boy to the door, then turned and looked back to Tris and the others.

“Stay clear of Margolan,” he warned. “‘Tis the demon’s own now, mark my words.”

Tris was silent after the farmer and his boy disap-peared into the night.

Vahanian muttered a potent curse. The mix of anger and grief that welled up inside Tris was too strong to put into words. His loathing for Jared deepened, and the pain he felt for .his homeland, for all the deaths and destruction, swayed him dangerously toward overwhelming anger. Kiara laid a hand on his arm, sensing his struggle. Tris could hear the Sisterhood’s warnings in his mind, but every attempt to dispel the hatred he felt fell short. It was several moments before he could even trust himself to speak, before his eyes cleared and he could let the desire to destroy Jared drain from his body.

“The story is unfortunately a common one,” Sakwi said, pausing while a coughing fit took his breath. “This winter was harsh, and the soldiers left little for the people to eat. They will starve come summer, before the next crops are in.”

“What did he mean, ‘dead men walking?’” Vahanian asked.

“Probably the same ashtenerath fighters Ban ran into,” Tris replied. “Arontala can’t do spirit magic, so he can’t reanimate corpses. But his blood magic and torture could bend a man to his will.”

“There are plants and mixtures that will produce visions—or nightmares,”

Carina added. “Absinthe, for one. Certain mushrooms, and strange plants from the southland deserts. The priestesses use them in rituals to see the Lady.

Without the proper precautions, they can drive a man mad.”

“Yeah, well if they’re the same madmen Ban fought, then they die off quickly.

That’s one good thing.” Vahanian replied.

“Esme showed me the body of the fighter they brought back from the border. I could sense the blood magic,” Tris said. “But Arontala can’t make too many of them without depleting him-self. They require a good bit of power to control.

And Esme says that because of how badly they’re broken before Arontala can make fighters of them, they’re already dying—the pain is part of the madness.”

Tris balled his fists as he struggled to control his anger and re-channel its force.

“By Chenne, I’ll bring Jared down—and Arontala with him.”

Sakwi regarded him silently. “I hope so.” He rose to stir a pot on the fire.

“There’s much to do if we’re to head downriver. But first, we eat.”

Sakwi boiled water for tea and readied a meal of hard cheese, bread and meat.

Vahanian, Carina, and Carroway warmed themselves by the fire, their sodden cloaks raising a fine mist in the warmth.

Tris answered Sakwi’s questions about his training and their preparations for the journey. On the hearth, Jae picked at a wedge of cheese. Sakwi reached out a hand to the little gyregon, who hopped toward him without reservation. Jae flut-tered his wings and hopped up to perch on the land mage’s shoulder.

Absently, Sakwi reached up to scratch the little gyregon under its chin. The land mage made a murmuring noise, and Jae answered with a similar gurgle.

“I think I’ve seen everything now,” Vahanian muttered. “You’re talking to that gyregon?”

Sakwi looked up. “Of course. It’s the polite thing to do. He’s a bit put out that we have no chickens to spare.” The gyregon preened and headed back toward the warmth of the fire.

“I haven’t seen such a pretty gyregon in a long time,” Sakwi said to Kiara.

“They’re native to Eastmark, you know. The royal family there doesn’t like to let them out of the country. He’s quite a prize.”

“He was a gift from my uncle,” Kiara murmured, reaching out to stroke the small hunting dragon. Jae, seeming to sense he was momentarily the cen-ter of attention, made a trilling sound and rolled onto his back, inviting a belly rub.

Sakwi pulled a large leather traveling pack from a cupboard and began to fill it with necessities for the trip. “The stories of monsters along the Dhasson border are not the inventions of men with too much ale,” Sakwi said as he packed, and paused, taken by a coughing fit that shook his thin form. Carina started forward, but Kiara shook her head, warning her not to intercede.

Tris
saw that for as frail as Sakwi might be in some ways, the rest of his slight body was well mus-cled and whipcord strong. “I’ve heard the witness of the foxes and the wolves, who have seen the monsters,” Sakwi went on when the fit passed. “I’ve also heard that ‘things’ infest the river, and even the northern sea.

We’ll need to travel carefully.”

Sakwi paused, as if pondering a question to him-self. “The horses make it a little more challenging,” he said finally. “I assume you wouldn’t be comfort-able if I just instructed the horses to meet us and sent them on their way?”

“Did I just hear him right?” Vahanian said in amazement. “He wants to talk to the horses?”

Sakwi raised an eyebrow, but did not turn toward the fighter. “Horses are quite reasonable creatures. And amazingly forgiving, which is why they put up with people the way they do. They’re very good with directions, and they can make much better time when they’re not hauling us around on their backs.”

Tris smiled at Vahanian’s obvious vexation, and Kiara barely hid a chuckle. “I think we’d rather keep the horses with us if we can,” Tris said diplo-matically.

“Just in case we can’t take the river the whole way to Margolan.”

“Suit yourself. I think I know of a boat that can take us all, and a pilot, but it will take me a while to find him and obtain provisions.” Sakwi stood. “Make yourselves comfortable. It should take me about two candlemarks to make arrangements.”

“I’ll be glad to come with you,” Vahanian offered.

“Very well. Come if you like.” Sakwi took down a moss-colored cloak from a peg near the door. Vahanian followed him with a glance to the others that made it clear that his intention was to keep an eye on the mage.

“I can’t say I much fancy a river ride m this weather,” Carroway said, pulling up a chair beside Carina, close to the fire.

“Can we trust Sakwi?” Carina asked, looking to Kiara.

“He had no reason to hide me from the guards at the camp, but he did, and the refugees trusted him. Staden trusts him. And I don’t see much choice, if we’re going down the river.”

“I don’t like the sightings of ‘monsters’ in the river and the Northern Sea,” Tris said as they fin-ished the tea Sakwi had made for them. “If those things spread, travel and trade in the Winter Kingdoms will be impossible.”

Jae gratefully accepted a bit of the dried meat from Kiara, and left the hearth for Carina’s lap near the fire. The little gyregon picked at his tidbit for a moment, lifted his head to gobble it down, and then stretched, circling once before settling in a content-ed ball.

Carroway found a small lyre in the corner of Sakwi’s room, and absently began to strum it, hum-ming to himself. Other than the bard’s quiet singing the group waited in nervous silence, their weapons close at hand, waiting for Sakwi to return.

“I FOUND THE pilot,” Sakwi announced a few candlemarks later, shaking the rain from his cloak. “He’s getting the boat ready now. It’ll be tight with all of us and your gear and the horses, but it’s a sturdy ship. It’ll do.”

Vahanian entered a step behind Sakwi and stamped the mud from his boots.

“It’s as good as we’re going to get.”

Sakwi moved to the hearth and put out the fire. “It’s a day’s trip downriver to the next village. We’ll need to provision there for the next several days. We won’t be able to stop again before Margolan.”

Kiara frowned. “Surely there are villages between there and Margolan?”

“Nargi villages,” the land mage replied.

“I’d really rather not stop there, if it’s all the same to you,” Vahanian said.

Sakwi looked at Vahanian. “You sound as if you’ve met our Nargi neighbors.”

“On several occasions. Did a great business, but the priests weren’t real impressed. I only heard part of what they were shouting when I left, but they got rather descriptive, and most of the details had to do with after they killed me.”

“We’ll do our best to avoid them,” Sakwi said. “I doubt Tris and I would fare better. Nargi priests are rather jealous of their power.”

“Lovely,” Carroway grumbled. “Monsters in the river, now Nargi priests. And the only thing Nargi priests like less than mages are bards.”

“I hate to say it,” Kiara said, “but we could end up with a Margolan honor guard if we don’t get going soon.”

“You’re right.” Sakwi took two leather pouch-es from the cupboard, and tucked them safely beneath his tunic. “For my cough,” he said apologetically.

“Perhaps I—” Carina started, but Sakwi shook his head.

“I’m sure you are a fine healer, my lady,” Sakwi said, “but there is nothing that can be done. It can no more be changed than the color of my eyes. I believe the Lady left me with it to keep me hum-ble.”

Carina looked askance at him, but said nothing more. Jae fluttered to join them, rising from Carina’s lap. The gyregon gave a squawk of protest before alighting on Kiara’s shoulder.

“Let’s get moving,” Vahanian said.

The rain made the trail to the riverbank slick with mud. Their cloaks were soon heavy and damp in the steady drizzle. Whinnying disapproval, the horses protested as Tris and the others led them down the pathway. “There it is,”

Sakwi said as they reached the edge of the dark, swift water.

A boat lay at anchor just off shore, with a sturdy gangplank ready for them.

They could hear the rush of the river and the lapping of the water against the boat, but in the darkness, the other shore could not be seen. Vahanian led the way, coaxing his restless horse toward the walkway.

“Come on, be reasonable,” he urged the fright-ened animal, to no avail. The stallion stopped at the edge of the gangplank and planted its hooves firm-ly.

“Come on,” Vahanian muttered between gritted teeth. “We haven’t got all night.”

“Let me,” Carina said, slipping in front of him.

“Be my guest.”

The healer stood in front of the stallion, reach-ing up to gently stroke its face.

At her touch, the horse relaxed visibly. Its ears pricked up at her words, murmured so softly that none of the oth-ers could hear. The horse whinnied once more. It took a step forward, onto the planking, and then another and another until, backing up the gang-plank in front of the horse, Carina led him safely onto the ship and turned his reins over to Vahanian.

“How did you do that?”

“Finesse. It’s the opposite of brute force.”

“Funny,” Vahanian muttered. “Very funny.”

On shore, Sakwi repeated Carina’s effort with Tris’s mount, while Carina turned her attention to Kiara’s. Before long, all the horses were safely secured in a small corral in the center of the ship.

“This is our pilot,” Sakwi said, as a burly, dark-haired man stepped up. The pilot’s eyes were nearly hidden beneath his broad-brimmed hat, and he wore a voluminous cloak that made his immense proportions seem even larger.

“I’m Nyall.” The man’s voice was loud enough to carry over the water’s roar.

“Take these.” He thrust two long poles toward them. “We need to get out into the channel.”

Once they were away from the bank, the swift current caught them quickly.

Nyall ordered Tris and Vahanian to use the long poles to push clear debris and keep them out of shallows. The drizzle contin-ued, making visibility almost impossible and soaking them through. Jae chattered his disap-proval from his perch on Kiara’s shoulder where the other three huddled near the horses. Sakwi seemed unaffected by the journey’s discomforts, his face raised to the storm as if he were listening to a song. Carroway huddled in his cloak, saying nothing but obviously unhappy with the circumstances of their trip. Carina clung to Kiara, looking ill.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be sick,” Vahanian said with concern.

In response, the healer dodged to the railing at the edge of the ship and threw up. Kiara stood beside her, holding her shoulders and steadying her against the rise and fall of the waves.

“I never really expected her to do that,” Vahanian said abashed.

“I don’t like boats,” Carina retorted, still keeping a white-knuckled grip on the rail. “I’ve never liked boats. Boats move too much.”

Sakwi stirred from his thoughts to join them, reaching into one of his many pouches for a rub-bery leaf. “Chew this.” He pressed the leaf into Carina’s palm.

“It will help.”

Carina nodded her gratitude, and Sakwi returned to his position in the center of the ship.

“What’s your friend doing, listening to the frogs?” Vahanian asked Kiara.

Kiara glanced back at Sakwi and shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he’s feeling the storm.”

“I’m feeling the storm myself,” Vahanian mut-tered, shoving a tree limb away from the boat with a poke of his pole. “It’s going to be a long trip if this keeps up.”