Three Coins for Confession (51 page)

Barien had stood at the center of Chriani’s life for ten years.
Had been the focal point around which that life turned. And with everything
that had happened to him, with all the changes that had overtaken him in the
past eighteen months, Chriani understood only too well how many questions he
would ask Barien now if he could. He understood how much he would give to
embrace the warrior’s memories, to feel that contact of thought and mind in the
same way he had touched Dargana. To feel Barien alive and in his life once
more, even as memory. Even for a moment.

He felt the heat of the fire, felt the chill that came in from
the edges of the cloak Kathlan had found for him, his bound hands unable to
seal it properly. The night was bright and cloudless, the waning Clearmoon
still waiting to rise. He had relics of Barien’s, he remembered. The wooden
dagger. Other things locked tight in the trunk he’d left behind at the Bastion
when he took to the field.

Chriani tossed the last of his bread to the fire, catching a dark
look from one of his guards in response. And as he stared to the flames, he
wondered whether the magic of the coins would have opened up all the memories
tied to those pieces of Barien’s lost life. Wondered what it would have felt
like to touch the warrior’s mind that way. Feeling the strength that had driven
him, the sense of honor and accomplishment behind the blue eyes and the wide
smile. The grim dedication to service that had cost him his life.

He had no idea whether the bloodblade held magic. No idea whether
it was that magic alone that had interacted with the dweomer of the coins and
the black well. No idea whether the Ilmari had access to magic that might
recreate the effect of the coins. Mind magic powerful enough to tear the
impressions of a life out of the objects that life had touched would be secret
if it existed at all. Milyan or Varyn or another of Chanist’s mages would know
of it. But even as the thought came to him, Chriani knew that enduring a
lengthy questioning under magical compulsion was the only encounter he was
likely to have with Chanist’s mages again.

“…kill the half-blood bastard now.”

He heard the voice rise from where his guards sat, starkly
shadowed by the light of the fire. Figures were moving around them, other
rangers heading for sentry duty or settling down into bedrolls to catch some
sleep before their own turn along the camp’s fire-bright perimeter.

The speaker was the guard who had struck him when they retrieved
Dargana. Madoc, under Kathlan’s command. Chriani had heard his name on the ride
but ignored him as best he could, even as he knew that effort wasn’t likely to
last the length of their journey together.

“Waste of a trial if you ask me,” the scarred warrior said,
louder now. “We cross the border tomorrow, we can mete out military justice by
law. What’s the penalty for treason again?”

“Execution,” one of the others said with a smile. “They’ll hang
him in Teillai. Seems too quick a way for a treason-bastard to go, though.”

“We can deliver justice to traitors as well as Andreg. A sight
more painfully, too.”

“You can try,” Chriani said quietly.

Madoc shot to his feet without a word, Chriani following. He felt
a dangerous anger hanging, spreading out around him. A few eyes were watching,
but only his guards were moving.

“Too bad your hands are tied, half-blood.” Madoc’s tone was
mocking as he pushed in, Chriani shifting back to keep himself from being
surrounded.

“Best to keep it fair, I thought.” With his bound fists, he
hurled his borrowed cloak at the two guards trying to circle around behind him.
Beneath it, he was still in his lóechari leathers. He saw the dark rage in
Madoc’s eyes flare bright in the firelight.

“Stand!”

Kathlan’s voice rang out like steel on steel, Chriani seeing her
from the corner of his eye as she strode up from the far side of the fire. He
sensed the guards behind him go still. He and Madoc both took another step
before they stopped, an arm’s length away from each other.

“There’ll be no rough justice.” Kathlan stepped up between
Chriani and Madoc, pushing Chriani back with the flat of her hand. He stumbled
as he put two more steps between them. “We’re bound for Teillai to deliver the
prisoner. That’s captain’s orders, and don’t be telling me you didn’t hear him
as well as I did.”

Madoc leered. “Saved by your woman, half-blood. Story of your
sotting life, I’m betting.”

“I don’t think I heard you straight, Madoc.”

Though Kathlan had to look up to see the scarred warrior a full
head and a half above her, even he heard the steel-sharp edge to her voice.
Madoc sneered, though, as he took a step back.

“Begging your pardon.”

“That’s
Begging your pardon, lord
. Or is there an officer
in Aerach stupid enough to have granted you promotion?”

Madoc’s hands flexed to fists. “I’ll ask after whatever sot stuck
your insignia on, then?”

Chriani felt the tension twisting through him, whipcord tight. He
started to shift, wanted to get past Kathlan and to the side, get a clear shot
at Madoc. There was no way she could have seen him, but her hand flashed up
behind her to warn him away just the same.

“That sot would be your captain,” she said sweetly. “Shall we
take it up with him?”

Madoc spat. “I’ll take orders from him if you like. But I don’t
take a dressing down from any treason-bastard’s whore…”

Kathlan punched up with a shot that even Chriani hadn’t seen
coming. Taking advantage of the size difference between herself and the larger
warrior, she put all the strength of body and legs behind the fist she buried
in the soft underside of his jaw. It sent his head back with a disturbing
crack. He was still reeling from that, stumbling a half step back to regain his
balance, when she spun with a roundhouse kick that took him cleanly between the
legs.

Madoc cried out with a voice that caught the ear of every other
soldier in the camp. He hit the ground hard.

Chriani stood stock-still, watching for the warrior to move, but
he stayed where he was. Partly for the pain that hunched him over nearly
double, but partly also from the sheer shock of Kathlan’s assault.

Standing over Madoc, she flexed her hand. She was breathing
slowly. Cautious, Chriani saw, but carried by a control he recognized as the
deepest, strongest part of her.

“Just so it’s clear,” she said. “The second shot was for the
insult to me, and I’ll be using your leather-cured cock to pick my horse’s
teeth if I ever hear it again. The first shot was for calling Chriani a
traitor.” She turned now to the two guards behind Chriani, pitched her voice
for anyone else who was listening to hear. “Lieutenant Venry and your duke are
wrong in this. But if it takes a trial to prove it to you, then that’s what’s
to happen. By your Duke Andreg’s orders. Or do you answer to someone else?”

Chriani felt as though he could touch Kathlan’s anger in that
moment, knowing it matched the best rage that had ever burned in him. Knowing
also that Kathlan would never let it get the best of her. Would never let it
control her. She would use it to push herself, just as she’d always done.

He understood in that moment not just that he loved her, but how
much. He understood why. Understood how she made him better than he was, better
than he could ever be on his own. The anger that had broken him, always, was a
strength in her. The stone that shattered his ambition whetted hers.

He didn’t know whether that made any difference now. Didn’t know
whether it was too late.

“Sergeant Kathlan, is there a problem here?”

Shara’s voice rang out with a subtle strength that told Chriani
he’d heard everything Kathlan said. The captain was pacing toward them from the
center of the camp, the horses tethered around a stand of scrub pine there.
Madoc shot to his feet, but Chriani noted that he had to strain to stand
straight.

“No, lord.” Kathlan’s tone was even, but Chriani heard the
caution in her voice. Not sure if she’d gone too far.

“Did I not see one of your rangers on the ground a moment ago?”

“We’ve ridden hard today, lord. We could all use rest.”

Chriani saw three of the guards behind Shara smirk, though no one
dared to laugh.

“Carry on, then.”

The captain passed by without another word. Kathlan waited until
he’d gone before she spoke. “Madoc, you’re with the horses. Stay out of my
sight, and unless every Ilvani in Crithnalerean comes out of the Ghostwood
tonight, don’t let me hear your voice.”

Madoc’s gaze spoke volumes but he held his tongue. He turned from
Kathlan, limping away from the fire and toward the trees. She turned her
attention then to the other three who had been sitting with the scarred
warrior. Chriani noted that they had all shifted back a few paces.

“Does anyone else have any problems following my orders?”

“No, lord.” All three of them, speaking at once.

“Then guard the prisoner. Two on watch, one resting. Set whatever
schedule you like. Anything happens to him, you answer to me.”

She turned without another word, stalked off toward the next
watch fire. Chriani picked up his cloak and wrapped himself with it as the
others settled into watch positions. None of them met his gaze.

He could see Kathlan at the edge of the firelight where she set
her watch with three other guards. She kept her distance from them, pacing
until the deep night, the Clearmoon thin and cold when it finally came. When
she and the others were spelled off, she sought out a bedroll, lying down near
the fire as the guards banked it high.

Only then did Chriani sleep.

THEY LEFT ILVANI TERRITORY at dusk the next day. The land
around them had turned from wild grass and scrub pine to overgrown meadow
earlier at the sun’s height, which yielded at sunset to the first tilled fields
dotted with frontier farmsteads, buildings set low and solid behind rough
stockade walls.

The long day’s ride had been all but silent, Chriani in the van
close behind Shara, like the captain meant to undercut any additional
discussion of the troop’s orders and Chriani’s fate. Kathlan was farther
behind, so that he saw her only when they stopped to water and graze the
horses. In all the time he was alone, he tried to keep her in his mind, tried
to focus the emotion that had cut through him the previous night. Understanding
that nothing mattered except her. Understanding how much he wished he could
have had more time.

They would be in Teillai the following day. The weather was still
clear, nothing to slow them. Chriani didn’t know what a trial for treason
before the duke would look like, but he expected it would be brief.

If he was found guilty, he’d be executed. Kathlan would be there
to see it. Irdaign as well. Lauresa.

Over the two days it took them to ride out from the Ghostwood,
Chriani had kept escape in his thoughts the whole time. Not focusing on it. Not
plotting it specifically, for fear that his anger would push him to try it
before it was time. He had been watching the rangers as they rode, though. Had
assembled in his mind the makeup of each squad, the tone and tenor of their
sergeants. He knew how many outriders Shara liked to deploy, and how often. He
noted which of the guards outside Madoc and his entourage were strongest in
their intrinsic hatred of him. Which ones were merely indifferent. Which ones
seemed most likely to back down from a fight if their lives were on the line.

He recognized the landscape around them, judging that they were within
easy ride of the farmstead where he had challenged Venry’s rangers for their
threats against Dargana. It seemed a long while ago. Though he hadn’t seen the
river yet, Chriani knew they were close to the Hunthad where it defined the
border between Aerach and the Valnirata lands. The farm tracks that
crisscrossed the area would hide his own tracks.

If he was taken to Teillai, it was even odds he’d be dead before
the next sunset. If he broke from the troop and fate was in his favor, he might
make it. He had the black ring to conceal him. He had the Greatwood waiting for
him. Perhaps not better odds of surviving than the trial, but they’d be his
odds at least. A chance to die on his feet, hands bound or no.

He’d been watching Kathlan, noting when she rested. Not just the
previous night, but the nights before and each time the troop had stopped.
Because for all the logistical impossibility of escaping the watch of thirty
seasoned rangers, there was only one of those rangers Chriani was worried
about.

If he tried to escape, if he was pursued and brought down, he
wouldn’t let Kathlan see him die.

They set a full camp with tents that night but kept well clear of
any settlements, Shara not wanting to stop near the frontier farmsteads in case
they were pursued. A carontir patrol shadowing them unseen would wait until
deep night to attack, at which point having to protect civilians and livestock
became a liability. It seemed a fleeting concern, though, with the troop’s
outrider patrols catching no sight in two days of anything moving out from the
Ghostwood behind them.

Chriani had a double tent to himself. They had set him away from
the other rangers and the perimeter fires, but with the flap sealed against the
wind, he was warmer than he had been sleeping rough the previous two nights. He
wasn’t sleeping this night, though. He was sitting in the center of the tent,
twisting his arms and shoulders carefully, as he had been over the two days of
their ride whenever he thought he could get away with it. With his wrists
bound, he knew his arms would begin to weaken even after so short a time. He
needed to be limber, needed to be ready for whatever might happen.

He was studying the restraints that bound him. A thing he hadn’t
done while they rode, not wanting to give anyone a chance to see him. The ropes
were retied twice each day, their steel cinch checked and locked. Chriani knew
he had no hope of opening that lock even with his picks, the keyhole set too
far from his fingers. They hadn’t changed the rope, though, and Chriani had
long since noted the weak spots where the cinch bound it.

He was working those spots carefully now, knowing his time was
growing short. But in doing so, he was distracted, so that he heard movement
outside the tent only as the flap was drawn. He started back, cursing himself
silently for not listening.

Kathlan slipped inside. She quickly sealed the flap behind her.

When he had first entered the tent, Chriani noted two guards
sitting close to the fire a dozen paces away. In the quick glimpse through the
open flap, he’d seen darkness there now, cloud covering Clearmoon and stars,
the guards gone.

Kathlan had a knife in hand, was working at his restraints before
Chriani could react. “I took this shift of the watch with Madoc. Show him
there’s no hard feelings. But he’s on a trip to the trees. Licorice root in his
wineskin means he’ll be there a while, but not all night.”

As the ropes parted, Chriani felt his wrists come away raw from
each other. With his arms moving freely for the first time in two days, he
shifted to embrace Kathlan, but she held him back.

“There’s no time,” she said. The sense of finality in her voice
was something Chriani had never heard before. “I begged Lauresa to talk to her
duke for you, but she said that convincing him to send rangers after you was
all she could do. She could twist that to make him see how it granted advantage
over Vishod and Chanist alike. Him capturing their lost traitor envoy. But for
your fate, Andreg won’t be taking any counsel but his own.”

It was near dark in the tent, Chriani knowing Kathlan couldn’t
fully see him even as her face in shadow was clear to his eyes. Her hand was
trembling at his shoulder, fingers tracing out the war-mark unseen beneath his
leather.

“Lauresa and Irdaign promised instead that they’d send word to
Prince Chanist,” she whispered. “Ask him to entreat Andreg to send you back to
Brandishear for trial. Get you out of Aerach.”

Chriani felt an unexpected anger rise in him. His fate suddenly
in Chanist’s hands was a thought that would never have crossed his mind.
Something he would never have sought for himself, even to save his own life.
“You shouldn’t have done that…”

“Chriani, if they get you to Teillai tomorrow, it’s your life.
There was no other way.”

It wasn’t true, he knew. He could think of a dozen different ways
it might end, though most of them were far from good. But he remembered also
his warning to Chanist, and the threat that still hung between them. If the
prince high acquiesced, it would be because in doing so, he would see Chriani
hand back the only power he had ever held.

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Kathlan said. “Irdaign said she’d
make sure riders from Brandishear would catch us before Teillai to keep it out
of Andreg’s hands. But they haven’t come, so you need to run.”

“Kath…”

“Run, Chriani. Use the ring. You need to get away.”

“Do not let the fear of what you cannot see control you, Ilmari,”
came a voice from behind them both. The words were in Ilmari, heavily accented.
“For fate leads us to futures seen and unseen, and is yet in both your hands.
There is still time.”

All the words Chriani could have said in response to Kathlan
turned to ash in his mouth. He twisted to get in front of her, felt her press
close, the knife in her hand up and beside him. The blood was hammering in his
head, the taste of metal in his mouth. He wasn’t afraid, though.

“What are you doing here? How did you…?”

Chriani’s voice was cut off as Veassen set a faint light to his
fingertips, the seer’s blind eyes gleaming in the shadows. He was sitting cross-legged
a single stride away, the wall of the tent at his back. Chriani felt the air
shift as if tugged at by a faint breeze.

“The Aerachi cannot see us,” Veassen said. “They will not hear
us. My magic protects us, even as it has shown you to me and brought me safely
here. But we must be quick.”

I have learned and forgotten more spells than are known among
all the Ilmari.
Chriani remembered the seer saying it, remembered how he
had come and gone in two councils without Chriani seeing him. His hand shook
from two days of being bound as he made the moonsign.

“Chriani…” Kathlan’s voice at his ear was a faint whisper.

“He’s named Veassen. He’s of the Laneldenari. I know him.” It was
far too brief an explanation, but it was all Chriani had the strength to say.
“What do you want?”

“To ask what you mean to do, Chriani. And to offer you sanctuary
if your choice leads you back to the Ilvani.”

The absolute silence that followed Veassen’s words was stark
enough that Chriani could hear a faint hissing from the light that blossomed
from the seer’s hand.

He thought of Barien, unexpectedly. A timeless moment of memory
that carried a conversation with the warrior, and talk of the choices in life
that a person could make. Chriani wondered briefly what choice Barien might make
if the warrior had been in his position right now, even as he understood the
stupidity of the thought. Because Barien would never have allowed himself to be
named a traitor in the first place. He would have prevented it, would have
fixed it somehow.

That was Chriani’s problem. Had always been. Thinking always too
late about the things that challenged him in his life. The things he wanted,
and how to reach for them. Realizing the answers to the questions only after
the questions had come and gone.

“No,” he said.

Kathlan’s hand was at his shoulder, squeezing hard, but it was
Veassen she spoke to. “Can you take him from here? Use your spellcraft?”

The seer nodded even as Chriani shook his head. “No,” he said
again.

“Don’t be a fool for the first time in your life, Chriani.”
Kathlan twisted herself around to meet his gaze, but he shifted to keep his
eyes away from her. “Take the road that’s offered you.”

He remembered Tician’s words within the respite of her sanctuary.
When the road behind is closed, you can look only ahead.
“I know my
road,” he said. “I go where you go, Kath. I stay at your side until the end.”

It was an admission of failure, he knew. Not the strength he had
wanted to believe was in him. The strength to break from Kathlan, to make sure
she wasn’t there to see him die.

If living meant living apart from her, he wasn’t strong enough to
do it. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Chriani, please…”

“Did you lie to me?” He pushed his thoughts from Kathlan because
he had to, his eyes finding Veassen’s. Locking themselves to the seer’s blind
gaze. The thoughts of Tician unfolding in his mind let slip the things the
assassin had said. “If Laneldenar had captured the coins, it would have meant
the same end as the Calala Ilvani holding them. Was that your plan when you
sent us to find the temple? To claim that power for yourself?”

Veassen smiled. “But you were not sent, Chriani. I saw you make
that choice, and in so doing, place the fate of both your peoples above
yourself. I saw that you would do what you were meant to do. As you do now.”

“Please take him.” Kathlan shifted forward toward the seer, hand
clutched to her heart and fighting the urge to make the moonsign with a
strength Chriani could feel. “If it’s in your power, don’t let him do this…”

“This is not my fate, child,” Veassen said. His white eyes
drifted to Kathlan, a sad smile tracing his face. “I hope you understand. Now,
do not tarry. My power goes with me, and the dawn is near.”

The seer was gone. No sense of him vanishing, no lingering presence
of his sorcery. Just again the faint stirring of air, and a silence that seemed
to hang for a long while before Kathlan spoke.

“Chriani, please…”

“Get some sleep,” he said. “It’ll be a hard ride to Teillai.
Shara and the rest won’t want to be late in.”

He was looking to the back of the tent, staring at the spot where
Veassen had been, when Kathlan slipped outside and away.

He was sitting there still when Kathlan came through the tent’s
door flap again at dawn. He hadn’t slept.

As she slipped inside, she pulled a short length of rope from
inside her tunic. Under the guise of checking Chriani’s bonds, she retied him
tightly, pocketed the remnants of the rope she had cut the night before.
Neither of them spoke.

Chriani stood by as the Aerachi broke camp, the sun bright above
the fields to the east but the world around them still in shadow. Darkness hung
to the south where the distant Greatwood lay. He noted again the difference to
the light in Aerach, remembered sensing it first when he led the Brandishear squad
out from the Clearwater Way. He recalled the dawn in Rheran, blazing above the
sea like an eruption of bright fire. He remembered sunrise on the frontier,
bursting above the dark stain of the forest like molten gold. The dawn of
Aerach was muted, though. The land here seemed to embrace the light, releasing
it only grudgingly. As if that land longed to cling to the shadow of night for
as long as it could.