Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (10 page)

He ignored her, pulling Xain from the horse’s back and casting him to the ground. Xain fought for his feet, and Jordel helped him by snatching the front of his collar to drag him up. Then he slapped him again.

“Stop it!” cried Loren, climbing down from Midnight. Albern watched with a dark look in his eyes.

“I know you goaded the horse to rear, Xain.” A dangerous undercurrent of fury in the Mystic’s voice chilled her heart. “We might have passed without incident but for you. Your weakness endangered us all.”
 

He seized Xain’s throat in his hands, and the wizard’s face turn red. Loren ran forward and pulled at the Mystic’s arms, but she might as well have been trying to move a mountain. Xain stared daggers at Jordel, and even through his pain hatred burned in his eyes.

“I know you suffer now,” said Jordel. “I know your hunger eats you from the inside, until you wish you could die from the pain. But you brought it upon yourself, wizard. You have no one to blame, and certainly not these children. I
will not
let you use your agony as an excuse to endanger their lives.”

He pushed Xain back, until he stood inches from the mountain’s edge. Annis screamed in fright.

“Risk their safety again, and I will fling you to the valley floor. You are a mighty wizard, but cannot fly. I need you, but will trade your life for theirs and lose no sleep in the exchange.”
 

He released Xain, who fell to the ground. Loren seized his coat and dragged him away from the path’s edge. She looked back with worry and saw Gem and Annis watching. The girl’s eyes were filled with fear, but Gem’s held a curious light. He watched not with terror or nerves, but with a grim sort of approval. That worried her more.

Jordel stalked back to his horse and from his bags fetched a fresh length of rope and a pair of leather bags. They reminded Loren of the hoods used to shield falcon’s eyes, but larger.

Jordel wrapped the hoods around Xain’s clenched hands, then bound them tight. He undid the rope connecting the wizard’s wrists and feet, moved his hands behind his back, retied them, then fastened the knots so tightly that Xain could scarcely move his hands an inch above his lower back. Finally Jordel threw him over his horse and bound the wizard back to his saddle.

“That will be a far harsher ride,” remarked Albern.

“He has earned it,” said Jordel. “Come. Lead us on, and quickly.”

They rode at a gallop, Xain bouncing terribly on Jordel’s horse. At first Loren could hear his small yelps of pain, but they finally subsided as he slumped on the horse’s flanks, senseless.
 

The Mystic did not command them to stop at midday for a meal, nor for anything else. Only once did he allow them to walk the horses, and gave them all provisions to eat as they rode. He took no food himself, using his time to fasten his angry eyes upon Xain. Everyone seemed to have caught his dour mood like a plague; no one spoke, not even Gem to complain.

Sunset came, and soon the last sliver of sun fell behind the western mountains. Loren thought that surely they would stop, but Albern nudged his horse to confer with Jordel. Then the bowyer turned toward them.

“We will ride on through the night, but slower. I wish to give the satyrs no chance to track us. It might be safe here, but I will feel more secure after a few more hours.”

“Through the night?” said Annis, exhaustion plain in the slump of her shoulders. “I am ready to fall from this saddle.”

“I do not recommend it,” said Albern. “Keep the horses at a brisk walk. Pinch yourself if you must, but stay awake.”

Silver moonslight bathed them through the night, for the satellites rose toward the north and set in the south this time of month. Though it was still a bit dim, Loren found that she had grown accustomed to traveling by moonslight over the past many weeks, and could see almost as well as during the day. Midnight seemed at ease as well, for she followed briskly behind Jordel’s charger. The plowhorse, however, was unused to such stretches, and stumbled as it walked.

Soon its meandering grew too much, and Loren shouted up to their guide. “Albern, I fear for the children’s horse. It looks tired enough to pitch them over the edge.”

Albern glanced back to see. “Tis only a few hours until dawn. That horse is not well-used to such journeys, but it will not fail us. Keep on, and Annis — give him a switch of the reins every now and then.”

“But who will switch me? I’m as tired, though I do not carry so heavy a burden,” grumbled Annis, who looked ready to fall from her saddle. Gem’s head was dug into the back of her shoulders, and Loren guessed the boy was asleep.

Dawn finally found them, exhausted but safe. The path had begun to descend, and Loren could see by the sun’s earliest rays that it leveled off mayhap fifty feet above the valley floor, then ran at that height until she could no longer see it. Albern found an alcove and ordered a halt, then Loren dismounted alongside the children. Gem flung himself on the rocky soil and fell asleep immediately. Annis curled up beside him for warmth and followed his slumber, without bothering to secure the steed. Loren desperately wanted to join them, but forced herself to hobble Midnight and the plowhorse. Then she got her bedroll and fell asleep while Albern tindered a fire.

She woke near midday. Annis was up and sitting by the fire, while Gem still loudly snored. Jordel sat against the alcove wall, keen blue eyes fixed unerringly upon the flames. Loren wondered if he had slept. The wizard was trussed up not far away, his back to them all.

“Welcome back,” said Albern. “We will rest here today and through the night, then continue in the morrow. It would be tempting to press on now after sleeping, but it is not wise to stumble exhausted through the Greatrocks. Our limbs and bones need time to recover.”

“You need not tell me twice,” said Annis. “Rarely have I ached so badly, and in so many places.”

Loren smirked as she sat beside them near the fire. No rain fell, but the day was cold and grey. She relished the flames as they bathed her face in heat.

Loren studied Annis from under her drawn hood. The girl did not shy away, nor did her eyes hold their previous anger. Either she had forgotten their argument in the danger, or had chosen to let the matter go. Loren hoped it was the latter. Annis was a dear friend, and one of her few in the world. Without her, and Gem and even Jordel — and, she was slowly starting to believe, Albern — who would she have?

Loren noticed something else: Annis was no longer the plump young merchant’s daughter she once had been. Though it had been scarcely a few months since they met, she seemed to have … grown. Loren supposed it was not impossible that the girl was now taller. After all, children her age often went through such spurts. But the change was not only in her height, in the fresh slimness of her waist, nor even cheeks that were no longer as full. Her eyes held a curious maturity, like a woman grown.

She is no longer a child
.
 

Of course in her youth she had been forced to see things no child should see. But when first they met, Annis had held on to so many youthful ideas. Now they seemed gone. While her eyes could still light at a simple thing such as a beautiful dress, Annis had grown much during their time on the road.
 

Gem, too, was growing. He still bore the marks of a hard life, with his twiggy limbs and wide hungry eyes. But his arms were not nearly so thin as they once were, and Loren could see his muscles starting to grow. And though Annis’s growth might have been Loren’s imagination, Gem was certainly taller — once he had barely reached her chest, now she would need a stretch to put her chin atop his head.

Loren wondered with a start if she, too, looked different. She had never owned a mirror, rarely looked at her reflection in a still pool’s water, and saw nothing remarkable when she did; everyone commented on her green eyes, but beyond that she thought herself plain. What did she look like now? Mayhap finer in her noble’s cloak, but surely shabbier as well. She
felt
worn — thinner, and sharper, as though the edges of her had been honed like the tip of a wooden spear.

With a start and a final snort, Gem finally woke. He looked around as though uncertain of his surroundings, then approached the fire to sit on Loren’s other side. Together they ate a silent lunch, while Jordel stared into the fire and Albern held watch at the alcove’s mouth.

Once Gem had devoured his last morsel, Jordel stood. He went to his horse and dug through the saddlebags. His hands emerged with a short, narrow blade — hardly larger than a dirk.

“Gem, of the family Noctis,” said Jordel. “Yesterday you asked for a blade, and I scorned you for being unable to use one. I was wrong to do so, and ask your forgiveness. I was worried at the threat to our lives.”

Gem bowed his head, like a king accepting a boon from a servant. But his eyes burned with an eager light as he stood looking up at Jordel. “I took no offense.”

“Then let me make you a gift,” said Jordel. “Take this weapon and call it your own. And as for learning how to use it — I will teach you, if you wish.”
 

Loren thought he might weep. Gem reached for the sword with trembling hands. The blade rattled in its scabbard. “I thank you,” he said, his voice filled with more emotion than she had ever heard from him before.
 

“Fancy a lesson now?” Jordel smiled. “I think we all could use a distraction.”

“Of course!” Gem struggled to fasten his swordbelt, but could not work the buckle — he had worn only a simple belt of rope, tied at the waist, since Loren had met him. Jordel knelt as if he were the boy’s squire, and helped him secure his sword.

Jordel stood, giving Annis a curious look. “You, too, are welcome to learn.”

Annis looked at them both, bashful and eager. “I would not presume to trouble you. I have had no experience with weapons, for it was not thought proper by my mother. She taught me to battle with words.”

“I have trained many much older than you,” said Jordel. “Students who had never so much as fondled a blade. Say the word, and my instruction is yours.”

Annis lowered her eyes. “Not just now, I think. Let me watch a while, then we shall see if I can muster the courage.”

“Come and join us, Loren!” said Gem. “Surely you would make a fine fighter!”

Loren shook her head. “A blade is a weapon for killing men. I will not spend my time learning to do so, even if the knowledge is never used.”

Gem rolled his eyes and shrugged. “You are a fair and beautiful flower, Loren — and one day this world will crush you under its boot. But have it your way.”

Jordel had Gem draw, and started instruction with stances. Loren wandered away, to the alcove’s mouth where Albern stood looking out in silence. He did not so much as flinch at her approach. But after she had stayed silent beside him for a while, the bowyer finally turned.

“You have never killed a man before?”

“Nor a woman,” said Loren. “And nor will I.”

“A curious rule. Not one often found in those traveling the nine lands.”

“Yet it is mine, and I will not break it.”

“You loosed arrows at the satyrs easily enough, when they threatened us.”

“Those were beasts. Not men.”

Albern fixed her with a hard glare. “They speak in their own tongue, and in the tongue of men. Have you learned their language? For Tiglak took the time to learn yours. They craft tools and weapons of war, no different from us.”

“But … but they are not
human,
” said Loren, confused. “They are goat-men.”

Albern shook his head. “Many evil men have left scores of dead in their wake, and roused great armies to slaughter countless more, all by saying their foes were less than human. Tis a dangerous attitude, no matter your foe.”

“You are joking,” said Loren. “Do you not kill animals for your meals? I see little difference.”

“The day my cattle can plead for mercy, I will stay my blade from their throats. You may think on this further, or not, as you wish. But you did not come here to argue your conscience with me, I suppose.”

“I … did not,” said Loren, though in truth Albern’s words troubled her greatly. She had not thought to look at the satyrs in such a way, and now her heart was troubled that she did. “I saw you fighting yesterday, with your bow. I have never seen someone shoot in such a way.”
 

Albern smiled and looked down at his boots. “Aye, those in Selvan often say I have skill with a bow, though in my homeland I am no great marksman.”

“You do not come from Selvan, then? Whence do you hail?”

“I am a man of Calentin, as your Mystic companion could probably tell you. There we learn the bow from a young age, for our land is hard and alive with danger. We do not use them to slay our enemies from across the battlefield, firing long shafts from on high with longbows. There you must learn to protect yourself from a few feet away, and in the blink of an eye.”

“Would you teach me?” Loren had not meant to state it so plainly, but could not stop herself from blurting the words. “I want to shoot like that.”

Albern frowned. “A poor skill it seems, for one determined not to kill.”

“More than humans may pose a danger. And I do not mean the satyrs. There are bears and lions in the world, and tales tell of other animals far more dangerous. Besides, often I hunt. Being able to shoot so quickly would be a powerful skill when searching for food, especially if the prey spots me and bolts.”

“That is why you wish to shoot, then?” said Albern, smirking. “To fetch your dinner?”

Loren’s cheeks burned. “If you do not wish to teach me, you may simply say so.”

Albern resumed his watch, surveying the mountains. “I am hired as a guide, Loren, not an instructor. I have concerns aplenty without spending time to show you my warcraft.”

There came a soft
plink, plink,
upon the ground. Loren’s eyes fell toward the sound. Albern, too, looked down, to see three gold weights at his feet. They raised their eyes to find Jordel standing nearby, two fingers still buried in his purse.

“I can pay more, if you think it fair. Not often will she have the chance to learn from one of the famed archers of Calentin.”