Fifth Quarter (28 page)

Equally wordlessly, they shook their heads.

"The dead have no need of drink, my heart." He whirled to face the old man who smiled at him. "You and I alone must share a cup."

"Did you…" Otavas wet his lips and tried again. "Did you do this?" A wave of his hand made it obvious what he meant.

"Of course I did, just like you taught me." The old man's smile moved past him to touch the dead. They leaned toward it.

"I taught you?"

The ancient eyes filled with moisture. "Did you think I'd forget?"

He's crazy. He's not just old, he's crazy
. Wiping his palms on his shirt, the fine cotton already damp with sweat, the prince lifted his chin and made an effort to sound like a son of the Emperor. "Listen to me, please. I'm
not
who you think I am. I am Prince Otavas and my father will send the army out to search for me. They'll tear the Empire apart and when they find me…" He stared over the back of the cart, hoping to see some sign of pursuit. "When they find me…" But the courier had looked right at him and ridden on by.

The cart turned suddenly and thudded down into wheel ruts cut alongside a field of grain. "We're heading for a small grove of trees," the old man explained, patting the straw basket between them. "We'll eat then, you and I, and have shade to protect us from the heat of the day. When the sun is less dangerous, we'll go on."

The scent of peaches rising up from the basket brought a rush of saliva and his stomach spasmed. He'd never been so hungry. "How long was I asleep?" The old man ignored him. "Where are you taking me?"

"Home," the old man told him with a longing sigh, one gnarled hand holding the necklace of bone, the other reaching out to lightly touch the prince's cheek. "Home, where we'll start again. And this time we'll get it right and you'll never, ever leave me."

Chapter Ten

"We won't catch them before dark."

Karlene turned her head just enough to glare at Gyhard through bloodshot eyes. "How do you know?" she demanded.

"As long as you are able to Sing the kigh," he told her, speaking slowly and just on the edge of sarcasm, "our quarry is at least a day's travel away. You Sang the kigh at the last milestone, and unless I'm greatly mistaken there are still kigh around you now."

"How can you tell?" Her thoughts trailed one another around in pain-filled circles and could come up with no reason for his certainty. For all their strangeness, neither of her new companions were aware of the kigh.

Gyhard exhaled noisily, impatiently. "Your hair keeps blowing into your face and yet the breeze is from the opposite direction."

"Then if we're still a day behind them, we can't stop." Teeth clenched, Karlene straightened out of the slump she'd been riding in for—she didn't know how long, it seemed as though she'd spent her life in the saddle—but before she could drive in her heels, a slender brown hand closed over her wrist like a vise.

"No."

She turned. Her protest died unvoiced at Vree's expression. Short of chopping it off at the wrist, Karlene couldn't move the hand; the hand's owner would not be moved at all. "No," she repeated wearily after a long moment, her tone making it an agreement.

Why are you paying so much attention to things that don't concern me
? He'd asked that question too many times before in too many different ways for Vree to mistake it now. Bannon had always basked in her attention—needed it, she realized suddenly as much as she'd needed him there to give the attention to—and now, when her attention was all he had… Guilt gentled an impatient response. "Without the bard, we can't track the prince."

"That's bullshit. The prince is with the old man, the carrion eater's going after the old man, and we're sticking close by my body."

"Gyhard isn't certain where we're going, and he has problems of his own right now."

Bannon was silent for a moment, then he sighed. "And you care about his problems, sister-mine?" His voice hardened. "I want that carrion eater in my body to die, Vree. I want him to die, not me, with or without honor. I want my body back and we are doing
nothing
to take it!"

His rage sizzled through her arms and legs, and Vree snatched the hand around the bard's wrist away before it could spasm closed tighter still.

"Honor's easy for you," he sneered, "you're living. I'm existing." Then abruptly as it rose, his rage subsided and his voice, when she heard it again, sounded close to tears. "I'm sorry, Vree. It's just… I mean, I want…"

"Vree?"

Fighting her way up out of Bannon's despair, she discovered the reins were sliding lose through her fingers. Her gelding, taking advantage of her momentary absence, had swerved for the edge of the road and dropped his head to snatch a mouthful of the coarse grass. The bard, physically exhausted by the day's ride and emotionally shredded by the reason for it, appeared not to have noticed, but Gyhard stared at her, his expression looking very much like concern. A heartbeat later Vree decided she had to be mistaken— she'd fallen a little behind so he'd had to turn and face the setting sun. It was a squint. Nothing more. Because it couldn't be anything more.

"You have a suggestion?" Gyhard continued, lifting a hand to shade his eyes.

Vree gathered up the reins and with them her control—of the horse, of herself. "I do. We stop at the next inn. If there's a healer around, we have her head looked at…" She jerked her chin at the bard. "… either way she eats and goes to bed. We leave at dawn and we ride hard before the day heats up."

Gyhard opened his mouth to speak, but Karlene broke in before he had a chance. "We ride until dark," she said. "It would be stupid to waste the cool of the evening."

"Stupider to die," Vree pointed out. "Much stupider to fall off your horse and break your neck. You look like shit, and you need to rest."

Karlene took a deep breath, the air equally scented with sweaty horse and sweaty bard, and discovered that even her lungs ached. "The prince…"

"Will be rescued later or not at all. Your choice."

Later or not at all had been Vree's choice from the moment she'd seen another man wearing her brother's body.

The bard stroked at a dark strand of mane with one finger. Finally, she sighed, surrender implicit in the release of air. "Are all assassins so tenacious?"

"What does tenacious mean?" Bannon asked peevishly, curiosity dragging him up out of depression.

"How should I know?" Vree lifted her chin. "We're trained to remove anything that gets between us and our target," she said, and because it was important to keep in mind just what she needed to remove, she looked past Karlene to Gyhard.

He raised her brother's eyebrow in what could have been acknowledgment.

Chasing the dead, the three of them had ridden from the Capital much faster than Gyhard and Vree had ridden in, and they'd long passed that section of the East Road where buildings were as frequent as Imperial law allowed and stopping at an inn meant merely making a choice. They rode into the next village as the setting sun dipped below the horizon, their shadows no longer stretching out before them, leading the way, but blending back into the dusk.

Vree lifted sweat-damp hair off the back of her neck and scanned the cluster of buildings grouped as close to the south side of the Great Road as the law allowed. Habit planned routes through shadow, marking doors and windows she could enter unseen.

Then the breeze carried the sound of keening down the road toward them.

The lament came from a tiny cobbler's shop, tucked up against one wall of what appeared to be the village's only inn. As they approached, a burly young man standing outside the shop's closed shutters glared at them suspiciously and shifted his ornately carved cudgel from hand to hand. He watched them pass, the sound of their horses' hooves momentarily drowned out by the cries of grief from within.

When they rode into the inn yard and the bulk of the building cut off the ululating cry, Vree checked her weapons. "I wonder what he's guarding against."

"Death," Karlene replied dully. "It's the custom in this part of the Empire to hire a strong arm to stand guard at the door for a day in case the body calls Death back into the house. The club he was carrying had protections carved into it. He'll lead the procession to the grave."

"We don't do that in the south."

"'Cause we're not stupid enough to think it would make any difference. Death walks where she wants to. Slaughter it, Vree,
we
walk where we want to."

"In the south, you burn a sprig of parsley and sprinkle the ashes across the threshold to keep restless spirits from returning home." Half her mouth crooked up in a humorless smile. "Bards study these things. I'm so tired of death." She slid out of the saddle. Vree barely managed to catch her as her knees folded and she continued to drop all the way to the hard-packed dirt of the stableyard.

A life spent in the army allowed Vree to recognize and appreciate the stream of profanity pouring out of the bard's mouth even without knowing the language. "Come on," she grunted, heaving the taller, heavier woman back up onto her feet. "Inside. A hot soak…" A quick glance through gathering darkness ascertained that the inn did, indeed have a bathhouse. "… and then sleep."

"And it'll be better in the morning?" By will alone, Karlene got her legs moving toward the door.

"No." False promises were for children. "But
you
may be."

The common room was empty, hardly surprising as the wailing could be heard clearly through the adjoining wall. Shooting a glance that contained as much irritation as sorrow at the place where the sounds originated, the innkeeper lit one last lamp and hurried toward them. As Vree eased the bard down onto a bench, Gyhard negotiated for care of their horses, three places in the dormitory, and use of the bathhouse.

"Two crescents every time we fill the bath," the woman told him.

He stared at her in astonishment. "What are you filling it with, ass's milk?"

"The water doesn't heat itself," she said shortly, her tone suggesting haggling would raise the price. "Nor raise itself up out of the ground. One at a time or all together?"

"It's large enough for the three of us?"

She pursed her lips, her head rising and falling as she made silent measurements. "It is."

Gyhard looked into his depleted purse and frowned. The bard had better have been in the Empire long enough to absorb a few of the customs she'd studied. "Then all together."

A speculative gaze alighted on the obvious foreigner for a second or two, then the innkeeper took his coin and jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. "Loft's at the top of those stairs, you've your pick of the pallets. I don't provide blankets, so I hope you've got your own." When Gyhard nodded, she continued. "Bath'll be ready by the time you are."

"Who died?" Karlene asked suddenly, her voice surprisingly strong.

The irritation vanished and the innkeeper heaved a heavy sigh. "Aven—that's the cobbler with the shop next door—it was his son. Only days old."

The bard paled beneath old tan and the crimson blush added that day by the sun. "A baby?"

"Aye. His mother's not recovered from the birthing and now this. Babe just up and died. Aven says one heartbeat he was warm and the next cold…"

"Cold," Karlene repeated.

"Aye, cold. And the next thing poor Aven knew, the babe was dead."

"How could I have forgotten about the babies that died in the Capital?" The thick golden mass of her hair spread out over the rim of the bath, her eyes closed, Karlene gnawed on her lower lip.

Vree braced her foot against the broad ledge that ringed the small bath and provided a place to sit while soaking. Lip curled, she dug her fingers into the knotted muscle of the bard's right leg. "You met two dead men up and walking, you were hit on the head, His Highness got snatched, and you spent a day in the saddle when you should've been resting in the Healers' Hall."

"That's not an excuse," the bard began, but Vree interrupted with a snort.

"Maybe not, but it's a slaughtering good reason."

On the far side of the bath, his position dictated by the need to accommodate three pairs of legs, Gyhard swiped at the sweat dribbling down from his hairline. "Why is he doing it," he muttered. "Babies! I don't understand
why
."

He sounded so confused, Vree found herself wanting to slip a blade across the throat of the person responsible.

"What for?" Bannon demanded.