Winter Be My Shield (5 page)

Nearby, someone sighed and shifted beneath their furs. Sierra froze, waiting until they settled again. After a moment's thought she knew what she'd brushed against  — the shaggy fur of a reindeer-hide tent, spread taut between the poles. The air was full of the smell of smoke and spruce. She forced her eyes open again, but it was no good, she couldn't see a thing between the darkness and the snow blindness. Everything was silent and still.

‘Are you awake?' a hoarse voice whispered. Taken by surprise, Sierra gasped aloud.

It was a man's voice, dark and rasping, and speaking in Ricalani. The sound of it almost made her weep — Ricalani had been forbidden in Kell's dungeon; for the last two years she'd spoken only Mesentreian, the language of the invaders.

There was a rustle of furs as the one who had spoken sat up. As he moved, the throb in Sierra's arm became a ripple of fire and the stream of power swelled to a river. There was something horribly familiar about it, something she'd felt before.
No, it can't be. He died, surely he died.

‘I know you're awake,' the man whispered. ‘There's nothing to fear here. We know you escaped from the Mesentreians; we won't try to send you back.'

Sierra pressed herself against the wall of the tent, her fingers digging into the shaggy fur. ‘How do you know where I came from? Who are you?'

There was a pause and then he explained patiently, as though speaking to a child. ‘You were wearing a Mesentreian uniform, carrying Mesentreian swords and wearing Mesentreian jewellery.'

She twisted the coarse fur once more and then let it go. ‘Oh.'
Stupid girl.

‘And as for us … well, we have our own reasons for staying out of the army's way. Do you have a name?'

Sierra was a common name, but that was no protection. Rasten would seize upon any clue that might lead him to her. ‘Kasimi,' she said, picking the name of her next-youngest sister. She'd been a wretched little brat, always stealing and breaking and losing things she ought never to have got her hands on. Sierra would have given almost anything to know if she still lived.

‘Kasimi,' the man repeated. Sierra bit her lip. She'd hesitated a moment too long, but if there was any doubt in his voice he'd hidden it well.
If you're going to have any chance of surviving you're going to have to
learn to lie better than that
, she told herself. She could still feel the fiery ripples in her arm and the part of her that stored the power was soaking it up like a hearthstone absorbs heat. That could become a problem. The warding-stones kept her power in check. Without them she would have to rely on her own meagre skills to keep it under control. If they found out just what she was …

‘Well, Kasimi, I'm Isidro.'

Isidro …

She remembered him. Most of the faces and voices from the dungeons blended together, but he had been different. Making a man spill secrets wasn't hard, nor was making him confess to something he hadn't done. After an hour with Rasten they would say whatever Kell wanted. But to make a man give up a loved one — a wife, a child, a brother — under an ordinary torturer, a strong man could take such secrets to the grave.

Kell was a Blood-Mage, though, and that made all the difference. A Blood-Mage gave his victim no respite. Kell could keep a man conscious through pain that would make anyone faint and keep a man's heart beating once he lost all will to survive. A Blood-Mage trapped his victims and then slowly tore them to shreds, until they were so delirious with exhaustion and pain they would do anything to make it stop. Oh yes, she remembered this one. The arm had been Kell's idea, but Rasten's precision in carrying it out had been a pinnacle of cruelty.

‘Kasimi?' he whispered again; she felt a faint motion of air, as though he was reaching out for her in the darkness. Sierra recoiled, shrinking back against the wall of the tent. She was already drawing more power from him than she could easily contain. Rasten had warned her not to touch any of the prisoners  — she was too powerful, he said, too uncontrolled. Her touch would drain a man of the strength that kept his heart beating — that was why they always kept her chained during the rituals, because her touch would destroy the victim and turn all their preparation to waste. Sierra wasn't sure if she believed it, but it was better not to take the chance and find out.

There was another rustle of movement and she thought she felt his proffered hand withdraw. What was he thinking? She was clearly shaken — her panicked and rapid breath was enough to tell him that. He probably thought her a fugitive like him, panicked to find herself helpless among strangers. Well, that was good enough. She could work with that.

‘Where  … where are we?' she said, her voice hoarse in her dry throat.

‘Where? That I can't say. I don't exactly know.'

‘But the soldiers! The armies must be close  …' she couldn't have travelled far with short rations, no map and a mind muddled from cold.

‘I'm told we're safe, for the moment,' he said. ‘Are you hungry? Rhia is asleep, but she left food and water in case you woke.'

‘I … I am a little thirsty.'

He knew the darkness far better than she, but the movement sent ripples of fire through his arm again. When she heard the water slosh, she groped blindly for it, keeping her hands low so that they wouldn't touch his. She found it by the base, a water-skin nestled in a pouch of fur to keep it from freezing. There was a leather stopper in the horn spout, and Sierra pulled it free and drank thirstily in the dark.

Her hands shook as she remembered how he had screamed.

Once she'd had her fill, the stopper eluded her, but finally she found it swinging on its cord and fumbled it back into the spout. She went to set the still-bulging skin down, but it knocked against something unseen in the gloom. There was a rattle of pottery and wood, and both she and Isidro reached out to catch it. Before she could stop herself, Sierra felt her fingers brush against his.

A spark of energy jumped between them, a glowing thread like a miniature lightning bolt, casting an eerie light over this tiny corner of the tent. With one blurred glimpse through watering eyes, Sierra saw the worn blanket that screened them, the rumpled furs and the wooden camp-stool she'd upset. She saw his face, pale and gaunt with hollow cheeks and dark eyes — just one glimpse and then the light blinded her, sparking a fierce pain behind her eyes and an almighty thump within her skull. Within moments, the great pulse of power that flowed into her from that touch washed all that discomfort away.

All at once, she was within him, wearing his skin and feeling the bones of his arm grinding beneath the splints. She felt the healing burns itching on his back, the thumping of his own head and the flush of fever in his cheeks, and the weary ache of his lungs as the pneumonia still battled within him. He was exhausted by it all, utterly worn down by pain that would not let him rest and would not let him heal. The lingering infection was still there: as he neared the end of his reserves
it would rise up again to finish him. She could feel it festering away, a mindless enemy lurking within his flesh.

For one moment, she was aware of every inch of him, then the rising tide of power flooded her with warmth. His pain was ebbing away, coming to her in a rush of power. His muscles went lax and she felt him slowly collapse even though he fought it, struggling to hold himself up and resist the outgoing tide that would leave him empty and dry.

Sierra felt him struggle, but with the power shimmering in her mind it seemed only a curiosity, something pretty to see, like sunlight on water. Of course it would fade as the sun set, the light dwindling to a few pale flecks.

But the power was coming so fast she couldn't drink it in quickly enough and it spilled over in a flood of light as multiple strands of energy burst from her hands, minute bolts of lightning that flickered and rippled ceaselessly, questing for some anchor. The light stabbed at her blinded eyes and with a yelp of pain Sierra broke the contact and quenched the light, pulling it back beneath her skin with a wrench of effort.

The tent was still and quiet once again, except for the pounding in her head.
By the Black Sun herself, what just happened?
‘Isidro?' she whispered.

There was only silence  — silence from him, and silence beyond the curtain that screened them. The flood of energy had lasted only a moment and the burst of light even less, not long enough to wake the people who slept beyond the barrier.

‘Isidro!' she hissed again, groping her way across the floor of trodden spruce. She found him sprawled face down, just as she realised that the echoed throb in her arm was gone. Her stomach lurched within her as she remembered how he'd fought against that tide of power, and in a near panic she rolled him over and pressed her ear to his chest.
Black Sun help me.
After a long agonising moment, she found the slow thump of his heart — too slow, but at least the beat was steady. Sierra wept with relief, a few stinging tears. Quickly, she gulped them back, listening for any sign of stirring from the rest of the tent. Once she was certain that no one had woken, she carefully dragged him back to the warmth of his furs.

He was far lighter than a man of his size should be. Sierra remembered when the guards had brought him in and stripped him — he'd been a warrior then, a man to be reckoned with, but in the weeks since all his
flesh had melted away. With her fingertips she could count every one of the ribs standing out through his skin.

Once she had his blankets wrapped around him once more, Sierra felt her way down to the foot of his bed, where the kitbag was usually kept. Kell had dispatched Isidro to Lathayan with a set of enchantments to keep the wounds from sickening during the journey. The people who had cared for him must have taken them off. Most folks were suspicious of enchantments, but Sierra could only hope they hadn't been thrown away. She had stopped herself before draining all his strength, but the power she had taken had left him even weaker than before.

She could sense the enchantments in there somewhere, sending minute ripples of power through the air, but hampered by the need for silence, it took her some minutes to find them. Each one consisted of a few lumpy stone beads, threaded onto a bit of leather that had been tied around his wrists. They were most effective worn next to the skin but even at the foot of his bed they had probably done him some good. After weeks without wear their power had run right down but the enchantments themselves were still intact. All she needed to do was recharge them.

Sierra felt her way back to her bed and buried herself beneath one of the furs, trusting it to hide the light she made. She charged each of the stones in turn, clenching it within her fist as she trickled the finest stream of power she could manage into the stone. Too much would overwhelm the enchantment and corrupt it, or even destroy it entirely.

By the time she was done, Sierra's head was pounding so badly that she felt ill. It was all she could do to crawl back to his bedside and tuck the renewed enchantments inside his shirt next to his skin on either side of his chest, where they wouldn't be found until he woke and noticed them himself. Then, all she could do was hope he wouldn't remember what had happened here in the dark.

Days were short in a Ricalani winter. Everyone awoke while it was still full night, and when Cam and Garzen went out to check on the horses all the stars were out and there wasn't even a hint of dawn in the sky. They lacked the numbers to keep a proper watch, so first thing every morning and often several times during the night as well, either Cam or Garzen would leave the tent to check on their little herd. That morning, Garzen opened the water-hole with the ice chisel while Cam led the horses down to drink. He met Eloba there when she came down to fetch water for the tent.

‘Cam, are you sure there's no sign of danger?' she said, glancing to the west. ‘The cursed Mesentreians are so close and the Slavers must be drawing near …'

‘There's neither hide nor hair of them, Eloba, I swear. Charzic and those other wretches have made themselves scarce and the only tracks I saw belonged to the woman I found. Besides, you've heard the tales of what Lord Kell and his cursed apprentice can do in battle. We'd hear it and see the storm long before it comes upon us. We're safe for now.'

‘But for how long?'

Thinking of it made him frown and echo her westward glance. It made little sense to think the Akharians would focus on the harsh and unforgiving north. It was a hard place to live for those not born to it. They would have an easier time of it if they concentrated their efforts on the settled lands to the south. Sometimes, when he lay awake at night worrying about what would come, Cam tried to convince himself that the Akharians would destroy Lord Kell, and the king, and destroy the foreign lords who held such a strangle-hold on Ricalan. It was a pleasant thing to consider, but he more wished than believed it could be true.

Cam shook his head. ‘I don't know. We need to give Isidro as much time as we can, but if I see any sign of soldiers heading this way, we'll
pack up and run, I promise. I didn't go to so much trouble to get Isidro back to let the king's men get their hands on him again.' They would retreat to the east and hope the Wolf Clan would shelter them.

Eloba bit her lip as she rested the full bucket on the tips of her snowshoes while she filled the other. ‘I'll pray you're right. Well, the girl is up and about. Calls herself Kasimi. By the Black Sun, I hope no one comes out here looking for her …'

‘Calls herself?' Cam said. ‘You think it's a false name?'

Eloba shrugged. ‘Well, if I were some Mesentreian lord's concubine escaped with a king's ransom of his jewels on my wrists, you can bet I'd not be using the name he knew me by. That's all I'm saying.' With both buckets full, she started up the slope towards the tent.

‘Is breakfast ready?' Cam called after her.

‘Yes, but don't rush. It's nothing worth hurrying for.'

A light scatter of snow began to fall as Cam led the horses back up the hill and returned to the tent. Inside, Lakua was stirring the pot of barley porridge that had been soaking overnight. Behind her, Brekan was peering into Kasimi's satchel. Cam began to say something, but changed his mind and turned away with a shake of his head. Every one of them was weary of their arguments. Better to just let it pass.

Cam turned towards the section of the tent screened off for Isidro's sickbed. ‘Rhia? Can I come in?' he said, just as the curtains twitched aside and Rhia guided Kasimi out. She wore Eloba's spare jacket and her face was still masked by her folded cowl. As Rhia guided her past the curtain, Kasimi stumbled and Cam reached out to steady her. ‘Careful! The last thing you need is another burn from falling into the stove. I'm Cam, by the way. It was me who found you.'

‘Cam,' she said, with a tremor in her voice. ‘Yes, Rhia told me. Look, I want to apologise for taking your hare.'

‘Don't worry about it,' Cam said, and he turned to Rhia. ‘Is Isidro up?'

Rhia shook her head. ‘No. He sleeps. Look in on him, but do not wake him.'

Cam waited while she guided the newcomer away and then ducked under the curtain. Isidro lay calm and still beneath his blankets and Cam knelt beside the bed to watch him. In weeks past such stillness had terrified him. More than once, he had sat up with Rhia through the night, certain that it meant the end was coming.

Cam sat back on his heels to watch the slow rise and fall of Isidro's chest. Isidro was the elder by a few months  — enough that he'd had seven summers to Cam's six in the year Cam had been sent to Isidro's clan for fostering. He'd been looking out for Cam since they were boys.

Cam had spent his early years spoiled and cossetted by his nursemaids and ignored by his mother, Valeria, a minor southern princess brought north to marry Queen Leandra's brother. That sheltered and isolated life had come to an end — a fact for which he would be forever grateful — when Queen Leandra suffered another miscarriage and accepted she would never bear a living heir.

Ricalan's alliance with Mesentreia would never allow Leandra to adopt a sister or daughter to continue her line. So long as she remained barren, the throne was poised to fall into Mesentreian hands. In desperation, Queen Leandra turned her attention to her young nephew.

Cam just barely remembered the day the Queen's guards broke down the nursery door. The nursemaids had screamed and panicked, but they hadn't been harmed. The guardsmen who carried him away had tried to reassure the frightened little lad, but as a boy Cam had never even heard Ricalani spoken. He knew only Mesentreian and had never set foot outside of the nursery.

Looking back, he could see just how desperate Leandra must have been. Cam's elder brother Severian took after their Ricalani father, with dark hair and northern features, but Cammarian had inherited his mother's blonde hair and green eyes. There was only the barest hint of Ricalani blood in his features — it showed in the high, prominent cheekbones and wide-set eyes, with only a hint of the epicanthic fold common to his father's people. At first glance most folk took him for Mesentreian and it would have taken some hard talking to have the clans accept him as Leandra's heir.

Queen Leandra sent the young prince to be raised by her most trusted advisor, Drosavec, Chieftain of the Owl Clan. The Owl was a tiny clan, neither rich nor powerful, but its chieftain was a man of uncommon intelligence and the queen valued him highly, even ratifying Drosavec's only son as his heir despite the taint of power the boy inherited from his mother and against the objections of the priesthood.

Drosavec had turned the bewildered prince loose into his clan's flock of children and assigned his son, Isidro, to watch over him; and set
about turning the brat into a man the clans would consent to have as their king.

It could have worked. Drosavec was a brilliant man and the queen was clever and shrewd herself. The pair had won the grudging support of the clans against the threat of a foreign ruler. But that all came to an end when Leandra miscarried once again and died amid blood-soaked sheets, along with her malformed child, when Cam was just fifteen and his brother, Severian, twenty. Leandra's will was clear: Cammarian had been named as her heir, with all the clans and the temples in support.

But somehow, Valeria had found a Blood Mage and smuggled him into Ricalan. Kell changed the game entirely. Where he had come from and just how long he had been hidden among Valeria's retinue remained a mystery, but what was clear was that Valeria had no intention of letting the laws against sorcery stand in the way of securing power for herself. When Drosavec entered the Great Hall to place Cam on the throne, Kell was waiting for them.

The rebellion, as Severian now referred to the events of that night, had ended in moments. In the aftermath Cam and Isidro had been smuggled out of the palace in one last effort by Leandra's loyal men, while Drosavec and the other nobles involved were captured and publicly executed on the palace steps. The foster-brothers had been on the run ever since. The longest they had ever stayed in one place was in these last two years, when the Wolf Clan had offered their patronage and protection.

In return, Cam and Isidro had infiltrated the Raiders who roamed the no-man's-land between the Wolf territory and the settlements to the south, to spy on them and steer them away from the lands belonging to the Wolf.

‘It was a game at first,' Cam murmured to Isidro. ‘We were playing at soldiers, playing at spies. But you were the strong one, Issey, and I always knew you had my back. Well, now it's my turn to look out for you and by the Black Sun herself, I swear I'll see you through.'

 

‘Our biggest problem — apart from the cursed war — is the matter of supplies,' Cam said once they were all seated around the stove and the meagre ration of the morning meal had been doled out. ‘We're nearly out of flour, butter, beans, meat … well, everything, really. And there's only
about four days' worth of grain left for the horses — five if we cut their ration again.'

‘It'd help if we moved camp,' Garzen said. ‘They do well enough on graze, but they've cleared all the snow they can here.' He turned to Rhia. ‘Is Isidro strong enough to move a little way?'

‘Perhaps, but not today,' Rhia said. ‘He finally sleeps. I will not have him woken.'

‘I still say we should get rid of the horses,' Brekan said. ‘Their grain costs a fortune and we can't even use them so long as Balorica keeps to his bed.'

Cam rubbed a hand across his eyes. ‘I've told you, Brekan, we can't get rid of the horses  — especially not with the soldiers nearby. We'll need them come spring, if not before.'

‘Spring's a long way off. A lot could happen by then.'

‘You want to sell the horses now and hope we'll have the coin to buy more in a few months' time?' Cam didn't bother to keep the scorn out of his voice.

Eloba scowled at both of them. ‘Don't start this again. We're
not
selling the horses … unless you want Cam beheaded and me and Laki and Rhia passed around between the soldiers when they finally catch up with us,' she said as her gaze settled on Brekan.

‘I've told you before, the horses make us a target,' Brekan said. ‘The Mesentreians don't look twice at peasants travelling on foot, but once you're on a horse they get suspicious.'

‘We've been over this,' Garzen said. ‘I call a deciding. Raise your hand if you think we should sell the horses.'

Brekan immediately raised his hand. When no one else followed, his face darkened until Lakua hesitantly raised hers.

‘Anyone else? No? Two for, four against. The horses stay.'

Brekan's face was thunderous, but Lakua looked faintly relieved. She leaned over to stroke her husband's knee, but he studiously ignored her.

‘Well, there's nothing for it,' Garzen said. ‘We'll have to head to a village and restock — I think we should have enough time and perhaps we can get some news, as well. It does leave the question of how we're going to pay for everything. How much coin do we have?'

‘Not a lot,' said Eloba. ‘Eight or nine silver crowns; that won't go far.'

‘There's more in the cache we left at the start of winter,' Cam said.
‘But that's a good six days' ride away, though at least it'll take us away from these cursed armies.'

‘It's a pity you didn't start riding two days ago, then,' Brekan snarled. ‘We wouldn't be in this situation if the hunting hadn't been so bad. Something's made our luck go sour, I swear it.'

Cam swallowed hard on the urge to call him a superstitious prick.

‘I've got a few ermine furs set aside I can throw into the pot,' Garzen said.

Kasimi, who had been listening in silence, hesitantly cleared her throat. ‘May I speak?'

‘Of course,' Eloba said.

‘I have a few things that might be good for trade. Two swords, a knife, and perhaps the horse — I don't know how to ride the beast anyway. It'll be a few days before I'm able to move on and I'll need some clothes and supplies — and I owe Cam for the hare … How much is a sword worth?'

‘Those two you have are good Mesentreian steel,' Cam said. ‘But they're military blades. This part of the country is crawling with soldiers — if we try to sell them people are going to want to know where they came from. Unless we take them to the sort of folk who don't ask questions, in which case we'll get only a fraction of the value. And I'd advise against selling your horse. If you're on the run you'll need it just as we need ours.'

‘But your sword doesn't have a military mark,' Garzen said to Cam. ‘If you were to trade Kasimi for one of hers, you could sell your old one and keep the new.'

‘Well, that's a thought,' Cam said, scratching his chin. His weapon was a nondescript piece from the time they'd joined the raiders. ‘If anyone asked I could say it was booty from a skirmish with the outlaws.'

‘Problem is,' Garzen said, ‘the old one isn't going to fetch anywhere near the value of one of those new blades.'

‘From what I'm hearing, those blades wouldn't fetch their true value anyway,' Kasimi said with a shrug. ‘We need the money now, so we may as well take it where we can.'

‘That's all well and good, but what about the rest of it?' Brekan said. ‘I saw those bracelets you were wearing. Those red stones would fetch a good price.'

Even around the mask, Cam saw the colour drain from Kasimi's face.

‘No! The … the people I escaped from will be looking for me. If they find the stones …'

‘We won't be going to a village nearby,' Cam said. ‘It's too dangerous, what with Isidro still too weak to travel. We'll pick one that's a good day's ride away. By the time anyone recognises the stones, we'll be long gone, and they'll have no idea where to find you.'

Kasimi was shaking her head. ‘No. Believe me, it's not worth the risk. I'll trade you anything else I have, but not those stones.'