Fifth Quarter (40 page)

The tailgate had swollen in the rain, so after Kait and Wheyra had clambered down, he'd had them slide it inside the cart rather than replace it. With a longing look at the silent figure standing, head bowed, beside him, he walked carefully back to the open end and squatted. His two older children continued to push against the grip of the mud. They'd work themselves to pieces for him, but he wouldn't allow that sacrifice again. Fingers trembling, he lightly caressed the two new bones hanging on the silk cord around his neck, finding them easily by touch alone for a desiccated band of flesh ringed them both.

"Enough," he said at last, shaking loose from grief and pitching his voice to carry over the wind and rain. "We can't go on."

Lost in the storm, Otavas remained unaware the cart had stopped until the old man grabbed his arm and pulled him around. He flinched back, but the clawlike fingers held.

"We must stay here for a while." The old man's voice cut through the noise of wind and rain. "Please, my heart, you must sit."

The prince stared out over the front end. Although it had to be around mid-afternoon, the rain was so heavy he could just barely see the shafts. No one held them. Frowning, he pushed a lock of dripping hair back off his face.

"We pushed the braces into the mud." The old man nodded and leaned closer. "There is no other shelter, we must stay in the cart."

Moving away from the hand shoving down on his shoulder, Otavas found himself seated between the corner and the rolled bulk of the pallet. Spaces between the floor planks had allowed the cart to drain and the close quarters stopped most of the wind—but shelter? The prince swallowed a sob and rubbed at his cheeks with his palm. To his surprise, after the old man lowered himself into the other corner, Kait and Wheyra lifted the tailgate and laid it across the front half of the cart.

The rain stopped pounding on his head and shoulders.

"A roof." The prince watched as the two dead women sat just outside the overhang and the two murdered fisherfolk sat just beyond them. "But you're still getting wet…"

"We are… dead, High… nesss." He thought it was Kait who spoke, but the downpour made it difficult to tell for certain. "It doesssn't… matter."

Otavas shivered.

"Are you cold, my heart?"

"Stop calling me that." But his protest had lost its force, and he didn't move away when the old man pulled the mostly dry blanket from the center of the pallet and draped it around him.

"Do you remember how we used to sit, wrapped together, by the fire? You always loved to watch the flames…"

"We didn't sit together. I didn't love to watch the flames," Otavas broke in wearily. "I'm not who you think I am." He waved a hand at the four silent figures sitting in the rain. "
They
know who I am! Why can't you get it through your thick head that I'm the youngest son of the Emperor, who won't rest until he finds me. He'll order all seven armies out. They'll tear the Empire apart. They're out there now, looking for me. They'll find me. They will." It had become his catechism against the darkness.

The old man smiled and handed him a boiled potato from the nearby empty oilskin bag. "I always said you had the most beautiful eyes."

It had never been much of a building—ruined it was even less of one—but as far as Vree could tell, the stone walls were solid and enough of a roof remained for them to sleep, if not dry, then no worse than damp, tying the reins to the overgrown thornbush by the black-on-black rectangle that defined the door, she left the exhausted gelding and made her way back to the road.

Grabbing Gyhard and Karlene each by an arm, she dragged them close and shouted, "I found shelter! We're stopping here!"

"No!" Karlene tried to pull away but Vree tightened her grip. "We have to keep going. We can't waste this chance to catch up. Kars couldn't possibly move a cart through this."

"Look, we only know he's more than a day ahead of us, but we don't know how much more—it might not even be raining where he is!"

"The kigh say it's raining down the whole river valley!"

Vree rolled her eyes and threw up her hands in surrender. "I don't give a shit if it's raining all over the whole slaughtering Empire! If you want to keep going, you're going without me!"

"Neither can I. Bannon spotted it." She trailed her fingertips over the wet horse as it passed, the mud sucking at its hooves like a living, hungry thing. Wishing she hadn't thought of that, she shifted her weight from foot to foot and watched Karlene take a step up the road, wet reins stretching, the bay staying right where he was. "What are you trying to do, kill yourself?" she yelled, catching hold of the bard's sleeve.

"I'm trying to save the prince!" Karlene yanked the sodden fabric free, dragged her right foot out of the mud, lost her balance, and fell to her knees.

"Well, you're going to do him piss all amount of good if you end up crawling to the rescue!"

The bard put down a hand to push herself back onto her feet. It sank up to her wrist. Breathing heavily, she squinted up at Vree. "You could be right."

"It'll never burn."

"She seems to think it will." Vree squatted and stared at the pile of wood she and Karlene had gathered while Gyhard hobbled the horses. She could tell by the feel of it that the stuff they'd picked up in the ruin was punky and at least half of what they'd found outside had to be green. Most of it was wet.

Frowning, Vree squeezed streams of water out of her hair and tried to remember every conversation she'd had with the bard. "I never noticed…"

She felt Bannon sigh and shake her head slowly from side to side. "You wouldn't, sister-mine."

Before she could ask what he meant, the shadow that was Karlene bent over the wood and Sang four piercingly high notes.

Vree threw up an arm to protect her eyes from the sudden light. "How did you do that?" she demanded, blinking at the flames.

"Fire kigh," Karlene sighed and sat down in what looked like a barely controlled collapse. "I can't remember ever being so tired."

"And yet you were going to walk all night." A dribble of water made its way through the rotten thatch up above and splashed against the back of Vree's neck. She hurriedly moved to a drier spot.

"Vree…"

"I hear it."

Her left hand cautioning the bard to silence, a dagger appeared in her right. Head cocked, eyes closed, she tracked the rustling path of something moving under the debris at the base of the wall.

"Terrific," Karlene sighed, pulling the package of food closer to the fire. "Rats. First rain, now rats. What else can go wrong."

"The horses have fallen into a sinkhole out back. I don't think we can get them out."

"What!" Karlene had heaved herself halfway to her feet when Gyhard moved into the firelight and she saw the look on his face. "That's not funny!"

"It was for a moment." He turned to Vree, and the grin disappeared. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and crossed to where her dagger lay almost hidden in the shadows. When she picked it up, it felt as though it no longer belonged in her hand.

"Vree?"

"We missed." The weapon lay cold and unforgiving across her palm. She looked from it to Gyhard; to a familiar face. "We never miss."

"Never miss…" Bannon echoed. Or perhaps he'd spoken aloud, and she'd been the one who'd merely thought it.

"Everyone misses once in a while," Gyhard said softly. "It doesn't make you less then you were."

"No. More." She tried to hide the fear in a bitter laugh. "We react as one. We throw as two." Dropping her gaze, she sheathed the blade. "What happens if we're attacked?"

Attacked. Gyhard kept his expression carefully neutral. He hadn't told them what had happened back by the village; had ridden behind the two women until the rain had washed away all the visible signs and then the storm had made conversation difficult. And now? Although he remained a target for as long as he remained in Bannon's body, the assassin was dead. He suspected that the moment the army received the corpse the hunt would be up again, but for now he was safe and therefore had no need to set Vree specifically guarding her brother's body. No need to cause her more distress than she already endured.

"Who's going to attack us out here?" he asked, gesturing with his right arm—his left carefully immobilized by a thumb through a belt loop. The shoulder was only bruised, but moving it twisted barbed spikes of pain in the muscle. The storm had helped him hide it all afternoon. "Bandits? They'd have to be pretty stupid ones considering how seldom this road is used."

"And there're no wild animals this close to the center of the Empire," Karlene offered.

"No bandits? No wild animals?" Vree's voice rose. "What the slaughtering difference does that make? We missed a target we should've been able to hit in our sleep!" She stomped back to the fire and dropped down to sit cross-legged beside it.

Gyhard's hand hovered over her hair. When he saw Karlene watching him, he let it fall back to his side. "I think…" He paused with exaggerated politeness while the bard sneezed. "I think we should get out of these wet clothes and let them dry."

Vree had no difficulty identifying the source of a sudden, intense rush of heat. Bannon's thoughts. Her thoughts. All at once, it became very easy to tell them apart.

"The four of us, naked by the fire, keeping warm on a cool, damp, summer night…"

"Slaughter it, Bannon, with everything else that's going on, how can you keeping thinking about fucking
all
the time?"

"Maybe because I can
only
think about it as long as I'm in your body!" He turned her head so she could see Gyhard stepping out of the wide folds of his trousers. "I had no idea you were such a prude."

As the firelight flickered over the hard curves of her brother's thighs and belly, she felt Bannon's desire. It was easy to hide her desire within it. "And I never knew you were such a pervert," she snapped, dragging dripping folds of silk over her head. When she emerged, still staring at Gyhard, her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can't lift it over your head, you've barely managed to get your shirt off and…" Vree leaped to her feet and stepped toward him. "There's a huge slaughtering bruise just below your shoulder!"

"I didn't realize you knew your brother's body so well," Gyhard murmured. "The fire is throwing so little light, I can hardly see you at all."

"When you two—pardon me, Bannon; you three— rode off without me this morning. I went off the horse, fortunately retained my grip on the reins, and while I was on the ground, he kicked me."

"Vree!"

"
Calm down, Bannon, let me find out how bad it is.
" "Is anything broken?"

"In case you've forgotten," Vree snarled, "you're in a borrowed body. If you're feeling pain, then you've damaged it."

" Asshole," Bannon added.

"Touched as I am by your concern, I assure you that I am not feeling more pain than I can cope with and nothing has been irrevocably damaged." As her fingers danced over the bruise, he became aware of his nakedness and caught her hands in his before he embarrassed himself. "Please don't," he said softly.

Vree looked at him for a long moment, then freed her hands and pulled away. Wetting lips gone inexplicably dry, she said, "Just don't forget that Bannon wants his body back."