Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (11 page)

Loren flushed and nodded her gratitude. She had not thought the Mystic was listening, but had to remind herself that Jordel often saw and heard far more than he let on.

Albern stooped to gather the coins, then stuffed them into his cloak pocket. “Tis a fair enough payment, though I cannot watch and teach at once.”
 

Jordel fixed Loren with a strange look. “I will take the watch. For I would much like to see Loren learn this skill. And besides, I have exhausted my own student for now.”

Loren looked past Jordel. She had failed to hold her attention on the Mystic’s training, and now saw that Gem lay on his back in the alcove, sword laying loose on the ground beside him, chest rising and falling heavily with every ragged breath. A small welt had raised on his arm, no doubt from a sharp lesson. She snickered.

Albern gave Loren a long look and nodded. “Very well, daughter of the family Nelda. Let us teach you the true nature of a tool you have long misused.”
 

twelve

ALBERN SHOWED LOREN THE CALENTIN craft of archery throughout the day’s remainder. First he told her to take the quiver from her back.

“In most lands, archers wear the quiver as you do. They think of movement, rather than shooting. A quiver on the waist may be cumbersome at first, and you will often spill your arrows. But it is like a muscle. The more you travel thus, the more natural it will come, until you move with the quiver at your side like another leg.”

Gem snickered and raised his head from the ground. “Poorly chosen words, bowyer.”

“Still your childish tongue, little master,” replied Albern, but there was little malice in the words. “Now, move your quiver’s belt to your waist.”

Loren tried firing with the arrows on her waist, but it was difficult. She was so used to drawing arrows from her back that this new motion came strangely. But she grit her teeth and tried again and again, never loosing an arrow, merely trying to perfect her draw. She tried placing the arrow to the left of her bow, like she always had. Albern stopped her.

“That, too, is wrong. People in the southern lands think that lends you more accuracy. But only practice guides your arrows true. Spend enough time with the arrow on the right, and you will shoot as fine as you ever did the other way.”

Loren tried, but the arrow bounced from the bow’s right side. “How do I hold it steady?”
 

Albern raised his eyebrow. “You have answered your own question. By holding it steady.”

She twisted the nock until the arrowhead came back against the bow. It strained her cramping hand and she winced with the pain. She glanced over at Albern’s hands, and saw for the first time how thickly muscled they were.

Something else I will gain only with practice
.
 

Loren held the arrow steady, but could not draw while maintaining its position. The arrow drifted.
 

“Try holding it with your left thumb. That is a terrible way to shoot, and it will send your arrow wide more often than not. But it can help ease the strain on your right hand and arm while you are learning.”

She tried again and again and again. The rest of that day until sundown, Loren drew and drew, never loosing a shaft. Her arm burned, but she kept going. The motion felt unnatural no matter her repetition, but still she pressed on.

When the sun finally set and they prepared for rest, Albern gave Loren a nod of approval. “You have grit. I have tried teaching this to archers before. Most surrender.”
 

“It took me more than a day to learn the wrong way. I will not be surprised if it takes twice as long to learn it right.”

“And mayhap more than that,” said Albern. “Your muscles will remember the wrong way for a long while yet. Refuse to listen. Your mind must rule them until at last they learn the way.”

They slept well through the night. Jordel and Albern split the watch, for neither man was especially tired despite the previous day’s difficult ride. Loren woke to a grey dawn, yet it seemed brighter and more hopeful than many of their days in the Greatrocks thus far. Loren quickly ate then grabbed her quiver to practice. Albern watched in admiration.

“Good,” he said. “Already you’re quicker than yesterday.”

“Yesterday I was ready to faint from fatigue.”
 

“If ever you wish it, once your skills are about you, I could speak to many sellsword captains across the nine lands on your behalf. They all want good fighters, but an archer who knows the Calentin craft is prized above many.”

“I thank you, but the life of a mercenary holds little appeal to me.”

“Your pardon. I had forgotten your vow. I shall banish the matter from my mind.”

They mounted once Gem had finished his meal — which, Loren swore, was bigger than anyone else’s, though she did not know how that could be when Jordel was rationing them so carefully.
 

Upon the mountain pass, Loren’s fine mood dampened. The alcove had offered a sense of safety. Now, upon the road, it was easier to recall the satyr attack, the looks on their savage faces as they charged with their spears, and the terrible bleating that poured from their throats. Loren found herself looking up the mountainside, always fearing to see the goat-men perched above, watching, waiting for their chance to strike.

But the day passed quickly and quietly. Just after midday the sun finally broke through the clouds and they basked in its warmth.
 

Despite the fine day, Loren often caught Annis looking solemn, or mayhap worried. Loren had taken Midnight to the rear after the satyr attack, to guard against any strikes from the back. But that put Annis directly behind Jordel and Xain, and the girl let the plowhorse drift as though she were afraid to draw close. Loren could see the fear in her eyes, and the worry whenever she looked at Xain.

They stopped for a midday meal, and Jordel took Albern on a bit farther to scout the coming turns. Gem ran behind, like a puppy following its master. They left Xain bound on the ground, and though he slept, Annis still sat as far from the wizard as she could, even leaning to the side so there was no chance of touching him.

Loren sat beside her. “What troubles you today? There is worry in your eyes, or mayhap fear.”

Annis looked down at her bread and mumbled, “Tis nothing.”

With a hand on the girl’s shoulder, Loren leaned closer. “Annis, I want to help.”

She looked over at Xain, then back at Loren. “You know I do not like that Jordel brought the wizard with us. I hate what he did to us in Wellmont, and what he did to
me.
Yet … yet after the satyrs attacked us, the way that Jordel … ”

Loren thought she understood. Jordel’s wrath had been terrible. The Mystic stood in serenity’s mold, and she had been amazed how even-tempered he was even in the face of Xain’s obstinate rebellion. It was not only the wizard; when the rest of them had hated Vivien and mistrusted her, Jordel had shown her courtesy and respect. Even when she sought to expose him for helping Xain, who had consumed magestone despite the King’s law, Jordel had looked upon her with understanding.

And yet, he had beaten the wizard without mercy. A terrifying display, and Loren could find no fault in Annis’s fear. But could she find fault with Jordel? His greatest concern seemed to be their safety. Loren knew how highly he valued Xain. To be driven toward such rage, he must care deeply for Loren and the children, even more than he let on. Could Loren condemn his anger when she, too, was furious with the wizard for all he had done?

But looking at the wizard now, Loren found it hard to muster much ire against him. He had shed great patches of hair. His cheekbones pressed sharply against the skin, and his hands were like a skeleton’s dressed in parchment. Jordel had to tighten his bonds every day because his body kept wasting away. It did not matter how much food they crammed around his gag, Xain’s body was eating itself from the inside.

The wizard might die. He looked for all the world like one stricken by a terrible illness — the way Chet’s mother had looked back in the Birchwood, when her body failed and wasted away. No doubt if she had tried to traverse the mountain pass through the Greatrocks, the journey would have meant her death. Would it now be the end of Xain?

A troubling question without an answer. Loren reached out, put an arm around Annis, and pulled the girl close. To her surprise, slow tears leaked from Annis’s eyes.

“I … I wanted him to die,” she said, her voice breaking. “I feel such shame in it, but truly I did. That hate sat with me like a festering wound, and I despised myself — yet I could not be rid of it. And then I got my wish, or thought I might, and it was awful. It seemed like something my mother would have asked for. After so long trying to escape, I am becoming just like her.”

“You are not. Your mother would have had no qualms about what Jordel did. You thought you wanted him punished. Yet when you saw that penalty carried out, you knew you were wrong. You are a daughter of the family Yerrin in body, but they do not own your mind.” Loren tugged Annis closer, planted a kiss on the top of her head, and gently rubbed her shoulder.

“But what of Jordel? Is he, then, like my mother? Have I run from one whose violence I abhorred, only to ride with another who will behave the same when provoked?”

“That is a harder question, for I would never have suspected Jordel of such a display. Yet I do not see it in the same light. The Mystic is a good man, his patience often bordering on foolishness. Yet Xain has done great evil while we have known him. We have seen the wizard kill. He has lied and stolen from us. He struck you with fire. I do not understand Jordel’s desire to save him. But in doing so, he has let Xain push him to the brink of madness, and that I
do
understand. The wizard has turned both your minds far darker than they would be otherwise.”

They heard Albern’s voice as he approached with the others. Annis scrubbed furiously at her eyes with the back of her sleeve, and they hastened to stand. By the time Jordel, Albern and Gem returned, Loren stood nonchalantly over Xain while Annis made a show of checking her saddlebags.

The remaining day passed without incident, excepting the clouds that returned before nightfall, and the rain that beat upon their bodies. Gem groaned as the first drops fell, and Albern hastened for shelter. It was not long before he spotted a cave and explored it, soon returning with news that it was empty and shallow. But in that short time the skies had begun to pelt them. They ran inside, shook off the water, then hobbled their horses.

“Empty it is now, but not always,” said Jordel, pointing to some dried dung barely visible in the failing sunlight. “At least that is good for a fire.”

Albern started it quickly, and despite the smell they soon had gathered around the flames for warmth. After a quick meal they were all eager for bed; in dreams they did not suffer the cold and grumbling from never-filled stomachs.
 

Loren had first watch. It seemed an excellent chance to practice her draw, so she fetched her bow and belted her quiver. Her muscles screamed almost immediately, the pain intense after a day’s reprieve. Loren ignored them. Aches and sores had never imprisoned her learning before.

The cave was silent. The only sounds came from the crackling fire, rain outside, and Gem’s incessant snoring. Loren never heard the footsteps behind her, nor the
whoosh
of air before something crashed into the back of her head, and she fell to the ground in blackness.

thirteen

LOREN’S EYES REFUSED TO FOCUS when they opened. Her head swam in agony. Small hands shook her hard, bumping her skull against the rocky cave floor. She cried out from the pain.

“Leave her be!” barked Jordel. “Her head is tender.”

Loren opened her eyes to see Jordel shove Gem away. The boy had been shaking her, his eyes clearly terrified.

“Loren,” said Jordel. “Can you hear me?”

She opened her mouth and tried to answer, but only a croak came out. She nodded instead, then nearly fell senseless from the pain in her skull.

“Here, have some water.” He raised a skin to her mouth. Loren thought it might choke her, but he poured gently, so that only a few drops came out. It touched her tongue like the sweetest honey, and she swallowed with greed. Jordel gave her more.

“What’s happened?” Loren heard a rustling out of sight. A moment later Annis’s face appeared, looking at Loren in horror. “Loren! Are you all right?”

“It was Xain,” said Jordel. “He loosed his bonds and escaped.”

Gem’s face reddened with fury, fists clenched at his sides. “You said you knew how to bind him. And now he has nearly killed Loren!”

“I do not understand it myself, Gem,” Jordel said. “The bonds should have held.”

“Mayhap this answers the question.” Loren looked to Albern despite the pain and saw him holding a frayed rope, the ends burned. “He crawled to the fire and thrust his hands into it.”

“But that would have roasted his flesh,” said Annis. “It must have hurt terribly.”

“It would have,” said Jordel, mouth set in a grim line. “But a trapped fox will gnaw its own leg off to be free.”