Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (59 page)

darkness fill my head to block out their presence.

When the surgeon had gone, along with all evidence of his work, I called my slaves to run a bath.

Hot, I said. Hotter than the desert. Though the midday heat hammered on the Gray House, and there

was not the slightest stirring of the sultry air, I was as cold as if that red-black flood inside me had turned

to black ice.

I spent two hours in the hot water, wondering what I would do for the rest of the afternoon. I wanted

to get back to my training. That was the best time of every day. Nothing to think about except what you

were doing right then.

I tried to sleep, but all I could see was the slave’s eyes, gray and clear. Accusing me. He had known

what was going to happen—that they were going to kill him to heal me. That was what his look had

meant. And then his eyes grew angry, then empty, and then they were dead.

My real father was a Dar’Nethi Healer. Was that what he did?

I threw down the sword I was polishing and pulled on my riding leathers. I didn’t care what the

surgeon had said.

Fengara wasn’t in the stable, as she’d been told I wasn’t coming. So I saddled Zigget and rode into

the desert alone.

Alone? Risky you know, young Lord. Our enemies might be able to locate you outside the

fortress
. Ziddari.

“No one would dare attack me. I bear the mark of the Lords.”

Ziddari kept picking at me, asking questions, telling me I should come back, let my knee heal. But I

rode harder and faster, laying my whip into Zigget until the afternoon desert was a red blur, and soon I

couldn’t hear Ziddari anymore.

I didn’t slow until the sun was low in the west. I had no idea how far I had ridden, but Zigget’s flanks

were heaving, so I headed back toward the fortress at a walk, trying to cool him down as the evening

came on. But the horse took his revenge. Something scuttered out from under a rock— a kibbazi most

likely, a sharp-toothed desert rat. Zigget shied and reared, just when I didn’t expect it, and I found

myself sprawled in the dirt.

“Curse you, devil,” I said, shaking myself off and gingerly testing my knee.

Zigget looked at me with blazing hatred in his eye, and then galloped back toward Zhev’Na.

Marvelous
, I thought.
A nice walk ahead
. I wasn’t particularly worried. I could call on the Lords at

any time, and they could have fifty warriors with me in a quarter of an hour or make a portal to take me

back. But I didn’t want to ask for any favors. At least I had a full waterskin at my belt. I wasn’t stupid

enough to go out without it, even though I was stupid enough to take Zigget on a ride alone.

I walked for a long time. Two or three times, the Lords stirred in my head, but I ignored them,

shoving my anger between us like a wall. Soon I felt them withdraw, and they left me alone. It felt good

to be alone in the night. Sometime around the mid-watch I heard hoofbeats and assumed that the Lords

had sent someone for me. Not surprising. I knew I was a lot more valuable to them than they let on. But

it wasn’t the Lords. It was Zigget—and the Leiran boy.

“Thought you might be needin‘ a ride.”

“Did the devil confess to you?”

“You might say that.”

He slid off the horse and offered me the reins. Zigget’s nostrils flared, and the horse shied. I kept

walking.

“You should have brought another horse. This one won’t carry me again.”

“He’s the strongest and fastest in the stable. He’d be your friend if you’d let him.”

“How do you know so much about him? Is he a relative of yours?”

“He’s a deal better than any kin I ever had. Do you want to know his name?” The boy was walking

along beside me, leading the infernal beast.

“I believe his name is Zigget.”

“Nope. Firebreather.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I just know.”

I stopped and glared at the idiot boy. “I’m not a fool. You’re not Dar’Nethi.”

“Call him Firebreather. Try it. Stand over there and call him.” He dropped the reins and stepped

away from the horse. I set out walking again. “Call him,” the boy called after me.

“Here, Firebreather,” I shouted, just to silence the Drudge. Before I had walked five paces more, the

horse followed behind me, hesitant, quivering, but close enough that his muzzle hung over my shoulder. I

stopped, and he stopped.

“Now tell him something nice. Tell him there’s oats to be had at the stable when he gets you there.”

He whispered this in my ear, presumably so the horse could get the good news from me.

“Oats?”

“Tell him.”

“Firebreather, there’s oats. Oats in the stable if you behave yourself.” I felt like an idiot.

The horse shifted his feet and blew a slightly happier note.

“Will you bite my hand off if I give you oats in it? This fool of a servant seems to think you are not a

Zhid of a horse. Should I believe him?” I raised my hand slowly to pat his nose. He tossed his head.

“Oats. Remember oats, Firebreather. I have the power of oats. My feet are indeed tired, thanks to you,

but if you have a change of heart, perhaps I can too.”

The horse bobbed his head and allowed me to touch him.

The boy took the horse’s lead. “What did I say? Now he’ll carry you nicely if you keep that up.

Remember his name and all. He likes grass better than oats, but maybe you don’t remember nothing

about grass to talk to him about.” He held Zigget’s—Firebreather’s—head while I mounted.

“What about grass?”

“How it’s green and soft and grows tall to blow in the wind. How it tickles his legs when he runs and

tastes so sweet, especially in the spring when there’s still snow about, but there’s little patches of new

green peeking out of it. That’s the best, but he hasn’t seen it in so long.”

The horse grew quieter under the boy’s hand and voice.

“You’d best get up behind me,” I said.

“I couldn’t ride with you.”

“I didn’t kill you.”

“True enough.” He scrambled up behind me. One would think the horse had scooped him up and set

him there, he did it so easily.

It was a long ride back. We took it slow, and the boy told me more about the horse and how to get

him to do what I wanted.

“How do you know so much about horses?”

“Don’t know. Just always had a feel for it, so my gran said.”

“Your grandmother? Where is she?”

“Dead now. I don’t like to talk about her.”

“Why do you speak Leiran?”

“Leiran?”

“Surely you realize that the language you speak is not the language spoken here. It’s not even from

this world. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I’m not supposed to say nothing. I’m not supposed to talk to you or even to open my mouth,

because I’m too stupid to learn the proper words. Couldn’t you just pretend I didn’t say nothing?”

“The work camp where you were born—were there many that spoke Leiran there?”

“I don’t want to get nobody in trouble.”

“They won’t. Not from me. I just thought it had been so long since those like you came to Ce Uroth

that no one could possibly remember their old language. Do you know about the other world? Do other

Drudges remember that, too?”

“I know about it. Not many others.”

“That’s astonishing. I’ve only been here a few months, and I hardly remember anything.”

“There’s those that wanted me to remember. Maybe no one wants you to remember nothing.”

We rode in silence for a long time. When we approached the ring of campfires surrounding Zhev’Na,

I told the boy to get off the horse. “You’ll walk the rest of the way,” I said. “And I would advise you not

to expect any favors for doing me this service. If you’ve half a dram of intelligence, you’ll spit at me

whenever you see me.”

“I’m always in the stable.”

I rode away without saying anything more.

When I got back to the Gray House, Darzid was waiting for me. He was dressed all in black, as

usual, and was sprawled out on my couch like a giant spider. I ignored him and kicked the slaves that

slept on the floor of my bathing room. “Hot water,” I said. “Plenty of it.”

I peeled off my riding clothes and stepped into the bath. I was freezing. Darzid appeared in the

doorway and dismissed the slaves. “Where have you been, young Lord?”

“Riding in the desert. You know where I was.”

“We were concerned about you. The healing seemed to upset you.”

“I didn’t like it. You’re right, of course, about it being a good use of a slave. I can see that, but I

didn’t like it. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and it hurt when Mellador cut me. So I decided I’d go tame

that demon horse so it wouldn’t happen again. I don’t like being thrown about and bruised. I thought it

would make me better, harder, to do something about it.”

“Of course. A good thought. And did it work?”

“I think things will go much better tomorrow.”

He smiled and fingered his beard. The smile did not extend to his eyes, however. If I looked close

enough, would I see his gold mask and ruby eyes?

“Why did you shut us out?”

I had thought about that a good deal on the way back. “I was tired. The three of you never leave me

alone. Sometimes I just can’t learn any more. I think you forget I’m only ten.”

“Eleven. Your birthday passed months ago.”

“Oh.” I had lost track. There had always been a great celebration at Comigor. Food baskets for the

tenants and a round of ale for the Guard. A party with Papa and Mama’s friends . . .

“And so?” said Darzid, a trace of impatience in his voice.

“It gets to where my head’s about to burst with everything. Sometimes I just need to be left alone.” I

didn’t like them knowing everything I was thinking or doing or who I was talking to.

“Don’t make it too much of a habit. We are your friends and allies, and we have a great deal to teach

you. Your anointing is only months away.”

“And then I’ll be the Heir of D’Arnath?”

“That’s only part of it.”

“What else, then?”

“On your twelfth birthday, the day you come of age . . .besides taking up the sword of D’Amath, you

will take your rightful place alongside your friends and allies. No one in the universe will rival your power,

for you are to become one of us—the Fourth Lord of Zhev’Na.”

CHAPTER 35

My riding lessons went much better after that night. No matter how hard Fengara worked us,

Firebreather and I got through it. He would carry me through roaring walls of fire and choking dust

storms; he would jump over fences and burning scrub and chasms that made my stomach churn. All I had

to do was call him by name and talk to him about oats and grass, and his powerful muscles and strong

heart would do anything I required of him.

Whenever I went to the stable, I would see the Leiran boy, hauling carts of hay, oiling harness, or

shoveling out the stalls. I took no notice of him. It was better that way.

Fengara noticed the change. “You’ve made a great deal of progress these past weeks, young Lord.

I’d come to think you hopeless. What made the difference?”

“Practice,” I said. “I just needed the practice and better teaching. You’ve done me good service,

Fengara, and I thank you for it.”

On the next day, I had a new riding master. He was a squat, vicious man of few words, quite different

from the sharp-tongued Fengara.

“Where’s Fengara?” I asked him.

“She was of no more use to you, my lord.”

“Is she dead?”

“I could not say. Have you been riding this animal for long?”

“Perhaps six weeks.”

“It seems attached to you.”

“No. Fengara was getting lazy. Not challenging us enough.”

That day I didn’t talk to Firebreather about grass or oats, nor did I call him anything but Zigget. I

whipped him and spurred him hard. I fixed my thoughts on the horse and how vicious he was, while

thinking of a question for the Lords at the same time. They didn’t answer. But as soon as I let go of my

concentration and thought of the question, they were with me instantly as before. I practiced all day.

By sunset Firebreather was wild-eyed and frothing at his mouth in terror.

“I want a different horse tomorrow,” I said to the head groom. “This one is impossible.” The new

riding master nodded in approval.

That night as I left the stables, a voice called after me from the shadows by the mule shed. “Why’d

you do it? Why’d you treat him like that after all he did for you these past weeks? You made him scared

again.”

“It would do everyone good to be scared of me. Don’t forget it.”

The Leiran boy watched, hard-eyed, as I crossed the stableyard.

A few weeks later, after working late with my wretched new horse and my vile riding master, I

wandered down to Firebreather’s box. I liked to be in the stables at night. Only a single lamp was left

hanging, and only the soft noises of the horses disturbed the quiet. You could almost forget you were in

Zhev’Na. I looked carefully about to make sure the Leiran boy wasn’t lurking in the shadows anywhere.

“Here, Firebreather. I’ve got oats for you. Come here, and I’ll tell you about the hills of Comigor, if I

can remember. You’d like it there.” I sat on the gate, fed him oats from my hand, and told him of the

grassy heath where I had ridden when I was little and weak.

“I thought you’d show up here some time.”

“Curse all Drudges, do you follow me?”

He was peeking down through the beams of the loft and caused a considerable avalanche of hay