Empire of Night (27 page)

R
onan hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said it would be a hard ride. They were heading west, toward the mountains. Soon Ashyn was wishing for the empty desolation of the Wastes. At least the lava fields were flat. Toward the imperial city, the land was mixed plain and wilderness, but the woods there were usually sparse, confined to pockets where farmers and settlers hadn't chopped them down. Here, as the population dwindled, there were places where the road seemed barely a scar in the wilderness.

She could see the mountains in the distance. They reminded her of Gavril. His family had been imperials since before his birth, but they would still have relatives there and allies, too. Did that include allies like the Okami clan, whose compound they were nearing even now?

Ronan didn't dismiss her fears, but he didn't change his
plans either, probably because he had no intention of entering the compound itself until Tyrus escorted them there. They found the inn, made camp in the forest, and then went in for dinner.

The inns they'd visited on the road may have been rough, but they were still intended to host travelers—often noble ones—heading to the imperial city. This particular road ended at Lord Okami's compound. The inn was for tradesmen, but also, Ashyn suspected, for those who might have cause to make such inhospitable land their home: poachers, mercenaries, and brigands.

The man at the table beside theirs bore the tattoo of a convict from the imperial city. It was two unconnected marks now, but if he committed a third crime, lines would be added to complete the symbol for “swine.” The former convict sat at the table with an elderly woman who looked as if she'd stepped from the imperial court fifty summers ago, with white hair reaching to the floor and teeth yellowed from a lifetime of blackening. This was, in short, not the sort of place Ashyn had ever expected to visit, which made it all the more fascinating.

Ronan had helped her reapply the henna. They'd learned it worked best with a light touch, one that made her look like Moria after a long summer exploring the Wastes with Daigo. Once inside the inn, though, Ashyn wondered if they'd needed to bother. It was colder in this region, with the thick forest and higher elevation, and inadequate ventilation from the blazing fire left the room so smoke filled that she swore she could pull down her hood and no one would even note the color of her hair.

There were few women in the inn, but the men there—rough as they were—seemed inclined to take as little notice of her as possible, as if to do so might suggest an interest that wasn't safe so close to the warlord's compound.

Ronan confirmed that. “Lord Okami is known as a harsh man. He tolerates this rabble on his doorstep—even encourages them—because they're valuable allies for a man living in such a wild place. In return, though, they must keep their activities far enough from his lands that merchants and artisans won't fear to travel here.”

Ronan motioned to the serving girl and ordered rice wine. After a long day's ride, Ashyn could see the attraction, but she was better warmed—and calmed—by a pot of tea. The girl brought it with a date-stuffed sweet roll.

“I'm looking for news from the lord's compound,” Ronan said as he handed the girl a generous tip. “The empire is an unstable place these days, and we hoped it would be calmer out here.”

“It is,” she said. “The trouble hasn't reached this far.”

He added two more coppers to her palm. “So nothing at all?”

“Something did happen inside two nights ago. Rumor says men from the imperial city slipped past through the forest. We've seen more activity inside his lord's compound since then. They say his warriors are preparing.”

This was not good. Either the emperor was simply alerting all his warlords . . . or someone in the imperial city had figured out this was where Tyrus would run.

“Is there news from the city?” Ashyn asked. “The last we
heard, they still hunted the traitor prince.”

The girl stiffened. “If you mean Prince Tyrus, then I've heard no news, but I'll warn you to watch your tongue when you speak of him.”

“And why is that?” said a man at the neighboring table. “He
is
a traitor, girl, and a coward to boot. If the goddess is just, he's rotting in a field somewhere.”

A man from across the tavern strode over. “Prince Tyrus apprenticed under Lord Okami and many here know him. The girl is right. Hold your tongue. He's not had the chance to defend himself. I'll wager his story is vastly different.”

“I'll wager it is, too, because a bastard isn't above lying—”

The second man hit the first, knocking him almost into Ashyn's lap. Ronan sprang to his feet, grabbed her arm, and pulled her toward the exit as others joined in the brawl.

“Apparently, I ought not to have mentioned Tyrus,” she said as they hurried outside.

“Apparently.”

When they'd first stepped out, Ronan had warned Ashyn not to rush off. They didn't wish to look as if they'd incited a riot and fled. Nor did they want to lead anyone back to their camp.

Others had left the inn, too—those not wanting to be caught in the melee. Fortunately, they simply hurried past.

“Let's go,” Ronan said. “Quickly.”

“I thought—”

“There are two warriors at the inn doors watching us.”

When she made a move, he grabbed her arm. “Don't look over.”

“Presuming they are behind me, I believe I was turning in the other direction, toward the forest, which is where we are headed, is it not?”

He nodded.

“I'd suggest you let me storm off, as if we've argued. Then you give chase. That provides us with an innocent excuse for speed.” Before he could reply, she took a step back. “Truly? Truly, you blame me for that? I asked an innocent question—”

“I did not mean—”

“Did you even hear what I asked? I'll wager you didn't. You were too busy ogling the serving girl and giving her our hard-earned coppers. I've had enough. Find your own sleeping blanket tonight.”

She wheeled and broke into a run.

T
ova shot from his hiding place, caught up, and raced along beside Ashyn when he could, behind her when the forest grew too dense. Ronan took over the lead. They'd barely gone a hundred paces before he stopped her.

“Enough. We'll not hear them pursuing if we're crashing through the woods.”

She stayed behind him as he cut a silent path through the forest. In truth, she wasn't even certain which direction to go. It all looked the same in here. Ronan seemed to know, though, stepping surefootedly through the dense undergrowth.

Then he stopped, his arms out to halt her, as if she might barrel past. He tilted his head and peered into the woods. Tova's nose worked madly, as if he too had picked up something but was equally uncertain if it posed a threat. When Ashyn herself listened, she heard only the sound of a small animal scurrying.
After a moment, Tova grunted, as though agreeing that's all it was. Ronan didn't look quite so certain, but they started forward again.

When Ashyn heard the snorting of their horses, Tova went still. Then he started to growl.

“Mind your hound please, Seeker,” said a man's voice. “We wish you no harm.”

Ronan glanced over his shoulder.

“And do not bolt, please,” the man continued. “We can see you better than you can see us. There are more of us. We're better armed, too, I'll wager. Now, come into the clearing so we can speak.”

Ronan tried to stop Ashyn, but she moved past him with Tova at her side. Four mounted riders waited in their campsite. The one in front swung off his steed. He looked to be on the cusp of his second decade. Bronze-skinned and gray-eyed, with wild hair in desperate need of a comb. His clothing was simple, but she recognized the high quality of the fabrics. He wore a fur-trimmed cloak with a sleeveless tunic under it, the cloak pushed back to reveal his arms, tattooed from wrist to shoulder in wolves with yellow eyes.

“I am Dalain,” he said. “Son of Lord Goro Okami. I believe you were traveling to my father's compound, Seeker?”

“You are mistaken, my lord. I'm not a Seeker.”

He glanced down at Tova, his brows lifting as if to say,
Truly?
He smiled. “Your hound might be explained away, my lady, but I suspect if I ask you to lower your hood, your hair will betray you, as do those blue eyes. You are Ashyn, Seeker of Edgewood. You traveled with Prince Tyrus, and you are here
to meet with him. So I am here to escort you.”

“And Prince Tyrus?” she asked.

“He's in my father's compound. I was out on patrol when my father's men found me to say you'd been spotted at the inn.”

“I do not wish to doubt your word, my lord, but as you know, the situation is difficult. I trust the prince and few others. I'll ask that you bring him here before we'll enter the compound walls.”

The young Okami hesitated. As he did, Ashyn motioned behind her back to Ronan.

Dalain cleared his throat. “I fear I was untruthful, my lady. Tyrus is not at my father's compound—”

Ashyn turned and ran. Behind her, she heard the clink of Ronan's swords as he leaped to defend her retreat.

“Wait!” Dalain said. “I can explain. Tyrus was here. He told—”

Ronan must have lunged in attack. Dalain stopped short. Thumps sounded as the warriors leaped from their horses. A clash of metal. Then footsteps pounded. She turned to see Ronan racing after her. Dalain stood behind him, his blade drawn, as he ordered his father's men to run them down.

“Go!” Ronan said. “Don't look back. Just go!”

Ashyn obeyed. Tova did not. He circled back behind Ronan, snarling and snapping, startling Dalain and his men and slowing them.

“Seeker!” Dalain shouted. “Ashyn! I won't harm your hound. Call him off and listen . . .”

The young man's voice faded as they ran. A crashing
sounded behind them, and Ashyn did look back then to see Tova tearing after them.

“Why didn't they attack?” Ashyn panted as they ran.

“Because they are pious men. And because we're in their forest. They think they can run us to ground easily.”

“Can they?”

“Probably. Just keep going. Once we can no longer hear them, we'll find a place to hole up and think.”

He took the lead again, his eyes better in the darkness. He ran, short blade in hand now, slicing through vines and branches. Ashyn had her dagger out, too, ready for attack, but it wasn't long before the sounds of pursuit faded.

“They'll get hounds,” Ronan said. “The Okamis are renowned hunters. They'll give us time to escape, and then send the hounds after us.”

“Then it won't help to hide, will it?”

“It will if we do it right.” He kept going, pausing between words now as his breath grew short. “We need to find a stream or a river. The dogs can't track us—”

Ashyn heard a whistle of air. Tova let out a snarl, racing forward as Ronan halted in his tracks and stumbled. Another whistle. Ashyn saw the arrow this time as it struck him hard in the shoulder, knocking him down. That's when she noticed the first—lodged in his throat. He gasped and wheezed, eyes bulging as he yanked at it.

“No!” she said, racing forward. “Do not pull—”

Something hit her from behind. She went down, her dagger falling uselessly from her hand. She fought whatever had her. She heard Tova yelp, as if injured. A hand clamped a
noxious-smelling cloth over her mouth and nose, and her legs slid out from under her as everything went dark.

Ashyn had been drugged once before. It was not enough to qualify her as an expert, but this time, when she woke, the period of “where am I?” confusion did not last nearly as long. Her eyes cracked open, and she felt a familiar tightness in her throat and looseness in her brain. It all rushed back. She bolted upright in the darkness.

“Tova!”

He licked her face, and she threw her arms around him, then went still.

“Ronan,” she whispered. “He was . . .”

Shot. In the throat. With an arrow.

She scrambled to her feet. The room, she realized, was not pitch-black. Thin light filtered in through a hole in the ceiling. Her eyes were still adjusting, though, and all she could see were that hole and Tova's pale fur.

“Ronan,” she whispered to the hound. “Where's Ronan?”

Tova made a noise in his throat. A whimpering whine that said he didn't know and was wondering, too. Ashyn stumbled about, as if she might find Ronan, though she knew he wasn't there—Tova would smell him if he was.

An arrow in the throat.

He'd been pulling it out. She'd tried to tell him not to. If it had hit a vein that was the worst thing he could do.
Had
he pulled it out? Was he . . . ?

She swallowed hard and lowered herself to the floor. Her hands came down on rock. For a few moments, she just sat
there, knees drawn up, thinking of Ronan, running over what had happened, hoping to recall some proof that he'd survived, trying to visualize him falling and see exactly where the arrow had gone in. It did no good. She couldn't remember.

She blinked against the numbing sedative. Fretting and worrying weren't going to fix anything or answer any questions.

She pressed her fingertips against the rock and ran them over the surface, feeling bumps and crevices and tiny sharp pebbles.

Why was there a rock floor in a room?

She blinked again, harder now, and then looked up at the strangely shaped hole. She rose. It was indeed a hole . . . in rock. A rough, natural hole that wound its way up to sunlight. She looked at the wall.

It was all rock.

I'm not in a room. I'm in a cave.

Then there had to be an exit. It was still nearly impossible to see more than that distant light and Tova, but as she squinted and turned, she made out another pale shape at least ten paces away. As she started toward it, the light seemed to catch something on the wall, making it gleam, and she jumped, startled.

A picture had been drawn on the wall. When she stood close, she saw lines. Once she backed up for the full view, though, the lines vanished into the shadows.

What had caught the light looked like the lacquered wood tiles used for armor, but it was twice the size of her hand. When she stood on her tiptoes, she realized it wasn't brown wood. It
was . . . every color. Iridescent, like a fish scale. She touched it and that was exactly what it felt like. The biggest fish scale she'd ever seen.

Tova whined, telling her this was no time to solve a mystery. That pale shape across the cave might be the exit. While she suspected she'd find it guarded, at least she could find out who held her here. The Okami clan, presumably. She only hoped they'd tell her what had happened to Ronan.

As she walked toward the pale object, it did indeed seem like a door. An oddly shaped one, with light coming in around the edges. The closer she drew, the less like a door it appeared, but her mind was still fixed on that image, and she couldn't figure out what exactly she was seeing. It sat on the cave floor and reached to her head. Something white, with a dark hole in the middle. A dark, jagged hole with . . . teeth. She was looking at teeth, each as big as her forearm.

It's . . .

She stopped short.

It was a massive skull, twice as big as Tova's entire body.

What creature grew that large?

Moria had said the thunder hawk had huge, jagged teeth and horns, and Ashyn could see horns, long and curving. But this skull had a snout, not a beak.

Tova crept toward the skull, cautiously, as if the skull was still affixed to a living beast. He sniffed it. Then he crouched, whining.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He looked back at her and stayed where he was, hunkering down in front of the skull. She took the last few steps toward it.

What is it?

“I don't know,” she whispered.

Yes, you do.

She swallowed and reached out to touch the skull. It felt ice-cold, but instead of pulling her hand back, she pressed it against the bone, and the chill of it made her shiver, her eyes squeezing shut. As soon as they closed, she smelled ice, sharp and cold, and she heard the flap of massive wings and a deafening roar.

“A dragon,” she whispered. “It's—”

“My lady,” a voice said behind her.

She jumped and whirled. Tova leaped up, too, and raced in front of her, growling. Light flooded the room. Torches, carried by three figures in long, white fur cloaks, the hoods pulled up over their heads, their faces lost within.

“You know what that is then, my child?” the first figure said.

She nodded.

He paused, as if waiting for her to say the words aloud.

“A snow dragon,” she said.

He pulled down his hood, and she saw a man, pale-skinned and white-haired, with tribal tattoos on his cheeks. Tattoos of dragons, done not in the imperial style, but in the intricate art of the North. And his eyes . . . He had golden eyes with slitted pupils.

Like a dragon . . .

He dropped to one knee, the other two doing the same behind him.

“My lady Ashyn,” he said. “Seeker of Edgewood. Blessed
of the empire and the North alike. Child of my child.” He rose. “I am Edwyn of Coldwall.”

“Of Coldwall? My parents were from . . .” She slowed, remembering what else he'd called her. “Child of . . . ?”

He smiled. “Of my child. Daughter of my daughter. Your family welcomes you. Your true family.”