Empire of Night (29 page)

T
o their relief, Okami's men were where Tyrus had left them. While neither dared voice it, Moria knew they'd both feared Alvar's men would come or the fiend dogs would lure Okami's warriors into the forest.

All Okami's men needed to do now was give up a couple of warm cloaks. Of course Tyrus insisted he didn't require one; of course Moria made him take it, threatening at blade-point when needed, which greatly amused Okami's warriors.

After Moria and Tyrus found a private spot, removed their wet overgarments, and fastened on the warm cloaks, there was a checking and cataloging of injuries. Each reassured the other that his or her own injuries were not so bad as they might have seemed in the forest. Certainly not so bad as they'd seemed before the plunge into deep water cleaned away the blood. Moria's arm required a cloth binding. Tyrus's
injuries were more numerous, but none severe, though Moria examined each bite and scratch before agreeing further care could wait.

They returned to Okami's men, hung the wet garments from their saddles, and set out. Tyrus had not asked why she'd been wearing only under-dresses. Moria suspected he'd mistaken the layers for a simple gown. Her footwear was covered with enough mud and darkness that it wouldn't be obvious they were finely made sandals. She did not wish to explain the party and the fake betrothal. Even more, though, she did not wish to mention the dungeon cell. Tyrus had been correct to head for the city after the battle, but his guilt over that was heavy enough. Let him think Gavril had been a serviceable host.

They rode through the night and into dawn, heading toward the mountains, with Okami's compound at their base. The party took rutted forest paths whenever possible. At dawn, they reached a roadside public house—not an inn, but someone's home, the owners offering food and beds to the rare traveler who came that way. While Tyrus and Moria stayed with Daigo and a blazing fire, Okami's men commandeered the place, turning out a group of fellow travelers and taking their breakfast for themselves. They were on the edges of Lord Okami's land now, and his men could expect such service.

Their host brought out food and drink, a veritable feast after Moria's captivity, and she dove in like a ravenous beast, to the others' amusement—and encouragement. They were rough men, these warriors of the Gray Wolf, as Goro Okami was
known. Not the sort of warriors she was accustomed to, but the sort that seemed more accustomed to women like her—men who found it not the least bit odd that a girl knew how to use a dagger and how to pack away a man's breakfast, a girl who was treated as equal by a prince.

As for Tyrus, they did not treat him as a prince either, yet there was no disrespect in their easy talk and teasing. They were clearly fond of him and comfortable in his company, which settled any fears on the situation. Tyrus had said earlier that his father truly reflected his clan totem, and Moria suspected that this was often true of the men who bore them. Alvar Kitsune was as crafty and duplicitous as the nine-tailed fox. Jorojumo was a sneaky web spinner, like the spider. And Goro Okami seemed, like his wolf totem, independent yet loyal to his friends.

The land here was as wild as the men, and while one might think Moria had had enough of forests to last a lifetime, the one they rode through that morning was different. Lush and green, it shimmered and crackled with life, and she found herself regretting each time they had to leave for a stretch on the road.

It was nearly midday when Daigo informed her they were being followed. He started by casting looks to his side, repeatedly, as if spotting something. Then he slowed to sniff the air, his ears rotating.

“Would Lord Okami send other men to escort us?” she whispered to Tyrus. “Men who'd keep to the shadows?”

“Lord Okami does not keep to shadows very well,” Tyrus said with a slight smile. “Nor do his men, as you may have
noticed. If you see someone, it's likely local bandits.”

When she tensed, he let out a soft laugh. “You've little to fear. Lord Okami's relationship with the bandits is . . . atypical. They'd sooner die by their own swords than attack his men. If they follow, it's curiosity.” He sobered. “Which may be more dangerous than robbery, under the circumstances. They can be trusted not to waylay us, but I'm not as certain they can be trusted to keep our presence a secret if the bounty is high enough. You saw someone?”

“Daigo has. He and I will fall back and look.”

“I'll join you.”

She shook her head. “That will be too obvious. Let the girl lag behind with her wildcat. If you get too far ahead, you can circle back, as if checking on me.”

He agreed, and Moria stopped, ostensibly to examine Daigo's paw, as if he'd stepped on something sharp. They both scanned the forest as she fussed with his forepaw.

Daigo's ears swiveled west a moment before she caught a crackle in the forest. She snuck a look that way just in time to see a slight figure slipping through the trees.

“I see only one,” she whispered. “If it's a bandit, I don't think he's very old. He's not much bigger than me.”

Daigo grunted, as if confirming. The figure snuck closer. His cloak was a mottled brown that blended with his surroundings, and his footsteps made no sound after that one unfortunate crackle.

“Will you take him down for me?” she whispered to Daigo.

The wildcat charged before she could finish. The boy saw Daigo and yanked a sling from under his cloak. Moria loosed
her dagger. It caught the boy's cloak just as he let his stone fly, and the missile launched harmlessly to the side as Daigo leaped on him. Moria ran over.

“Well,” said a lilting, high voice. “Aren't you the prettiest kitten ever. Those fangs are truly impressive, though I'd prefer they weren't quite so close to my throat.”

“They won't be if you promise to rise without running.”

“Agreed,” the girl said. “You've caught me fair and square, and I'll cede victory to you, young Keeper.”

“Tell her to set aside her sling first,” Tyrus's voice called behind them.

“Ah, the little prince,” the girl said as she rose. “I thought that was you. Not quite so little these days.”

“Lay down your sling, Sabre,” Tyrus said, moving up beside them. “I know better than to be distracted by your chatter.”

The girl only laughed, and set aside her sling. As she stood, she pushed back her hood. She had called Moria “young” but she couldn't be more than a couple of summers older. She had the regional look of the warlord's men—wild black hair, high cheekbones, bronze skin, and eyes that seemed somewhere between blue and gray.

“You know each other, I presume,” Moria said.

“I met the little prince when he was training under Lord Okami,” Sabre said. “And when he was half a head shorter than me.”

“Which I no longer am,” Tyrus said. “So you can stop calling me that.”

“At least I still call you prince, which is more than most would.” When he opened his mouth, she said, “You don't
need to defend yourself to me. I know you wouldn't run from battle. You trained too long under Dalain, and you're as stupidly honor bound as he. You'd both stand in the face of a charging army rather than give ground.” She rolled her eyes at Moria. “Warriors.”

“Despite your insult,” Tyrus said, “I appreciate that you didn't doubt my bravery.”

“More stupidity than bravery. I will admit I was somewhat swayed by the rumor that you'd been tricked by a girl. But I see now I was mistaken, and I congratulate you on how much your taste has improved. I'll wager this one doesn't call you to slay mice in her quarters.”

Sabre looked at Moria. “Some distant relative of Lord Okami brought his daughter once—the most vacant-headed, timid child you could imagine, though she knew how to catch a boy's attention. She'd run from her quarters shrieking of mice and insist the valiant prince slay them for her. Which Tyrus fell for. Repeatedly. But she was terribly pretty.”

“Did your father send you to interrupt our travels, Sabre?” one of Lord Okami's men called as they arrived.

“Her father is the local bandit leader,” Tyrus said to Moria.

Sabre bristled. “My father is a nomadic tribal chieftain—”

“—who accepts generous offerings from travelers for safe passage through these treacherous hills.” Tyrus leaned toward Moria. “He's a bandit. A powerful one, though.”

“I believe I've heard the exact same said about
your
father.”

“Sabre . . .” a voice called as a rider rode up. “Waylaying my guests on the roadside?”

The newcomer was a young man, perhaps twenty summers
of age. Tall and well-formed, with gray eyes and unruly black hair. On his arms, Moria could see the tattoos of the Okami clan: dark wolves with yellow eyes.

“Tyrus.” He slid from his horse and thumped the prince on the back. “It is good to see you safe.” He bowed to Moria. “Dalain Okami, my lady. Son of Lord Okami.”

“Youngest
son,” Sabre cut in, with a tone that said that barely qualified him for kinship at all.

He shook his head. “As soon as I heard the sounds of trouble, I knew who it was. Now, off with you, Sabre. You've delayed my guests quite enough.”

The young woman's eyes flashed. “I was not bothering your guests, Dalain. I was helping them.” She turned her attention and her words to Moria. “I spotted your party when you rode through the valley. Then I realized that I wasn't the only one who had noticed you.”

“Bandits, I presume?” Dalain said.

She gave him a withering look. “Go hunt something, Dalain. The pursuit suits you much better than thinking.”

“Actually, I
was
hunting something. Or someone. And it's rather urgent, so if you could be quicker with this story, that would be appreciated.”

She scowled at him, then turned to Moria again. “There were three riders following you. They were dressed as simple travelers, but I could see blades under their cloaks, and while their steeds were not fine, the men rode exceedingly well. I tried to get closer, but when you paused at a stream, they went on ahead. That's when I noticed that Tyrus was with you, which meant this was no hostage situation. I was getting closer
to warn him when you caught me.”

“She caught you?” Dalain said. “Truly?”

“I admitted it, didn't I? The Keeper of Edgewood is very skilled with her blade and her wildcat, and I am not so arrogant that I can't admit defeat.”

“I wouldn't say it's lack of arrogance so much as vast experience with defeat.”

Dalain was teasing Sabre, but the young woman only seemed to grow more irritated. Moria heard Ashyn's voice whispering in her ear:
Because he's treating her as a child, and she does not wish him to see her as a child.

Perhaps. It was none of Moria's concern right now. Her sister's voice, however, was a concern—a reminder.

“The three riders,” she said. “Were they clearly men? My sister is supposed to come this way. She'll be accompanied by a young man and a young woman. They may have been following us trying to determine if we were in your men's custody or not before they approached.”

“It is . . . possible,” Dalain said.

“He'll not answer straight,” Sabre said. “So I will. That's who he was hunting: your sister. She was here, and Dalain frightened her off, and now she's lost.”

“Lost?” Moria said, her voice sharp with alarm.

Dalain shot a glare at Sabre, then turned to Moria. “I'm sorry, my lady. Some of our locals are more plainspoken—and less considerate—than they ought to be. Yes, I did speak to your sister. While I will not say that I ‘frightened her off,' she was understandably cautious, given the circumstances, and I may have underestimated the degree of her caution.”

Sabre snorted. “
May have?
You can pull on pretty manners for the Keeper, Dalain, but I'm not the only local given to plain and ill-considered speeches.”

“Ashyn didn't trust you so she ran,” Tyrus said. “Which is why I told you not to approach her until I returned.” He held up a hand against Dalain's protest. “Yes, I know you meant well. But it's not the Seeker you needed worry about as much as her escort. Ronan would never have let her go with you until I was there to say all was well. What happened then?”

“She ran with the boy and her hound. They disappeared into the woods, and it seemed wise to bring our own hounds to track them.”

“Which would have put them perfectly at ease,” Sabre murmured.

Dalain ignored her. “One of my men spotted her outside the inn last evening. There was a . . . commotion. I feared she would not fare well in these woods, and I thought I could convince her to come with me. I was mistaken. But I will find her. My men are out there now, with the best hunting hounds in the empire.”

“Then I'll go with them,” Moria said.

She turned toward her horse. Dalain stepped in her path, but Tyrus cleared his throat and steered Moria aside.

“You'll not stop me from finding my sister,” she said.

“I wouldn't dare. But may I suggest we get you to the compound for a change of clothing? We'll pack food and water and set out for a proper search.”

“While I appreciate the Keeper's concern,” Dalain began,
“I think this is best handled by hounds and men who know the terrain—”

“I know the terrain,” Tyrus cut in. “And Moria knows her sister, as does Daigo. I appreciate your concern, Dalain, but once we've partaken of your father's hospitality, we will hunt for Ashyn and her escort. If you wish to join us, you are most welcome, but I would prefer you did not search on your own, as it is likely to drive them deeper into the wilderness.”

Tyrus's words came softly, but his tone left no room for debate. It reminded Dalain that, while Tyrus was still several summers younger, he was no longer a boy under the Okamis' tutelage. He was an imperial prince.