Fifth Quarter (44 page)

"I see it." She took back control of her hand and picked up the thin gold ring. Still squatting, she studied it. There were no marks on the band, no way of telling how long it had hung on a thorn before she hit it with the rock and knocked it to the ground.

"
Looks like
." "Karlene? What's wrong?"

"This was under the bush?"

"Actually, it was hung on a thorn until I knocked it off."

With trembling fingers, Karlene lifted the ring off her palm. "This is one of Prince Otavas' rings. He liked to wear about half a dozen on each hand." She swallowed, hard. "Probably because His Majesty preferred heavy rings with colored stones. Anyway, he set a fashion at court."

Vree frowned. "I wonder who the old man has him guarding?"

"No. No." Karlene shook her head and fought to gain control of her voice. "A dead man wouldn't hang a ring on a tree. He's alive. He left this as a sign to tell me he's alive! Someone was guarding
him
!" She spun around, holding the ring over her head so that the gold flashed in the sunlight and Sang out, "HE'S ALIVE!"

Gyhard ran out of the stable, a feedbag dangling from one hand. "Who's alive?" His head jerked back and forth as he scanned the area. "You found another soldier? What?"

"Vree found one of His Highness' rings under that thorn tree!" Karlene hurried across the yard, waving the ring. "Except he hung it on the tree, earlier, while he was relieving himself. He's alive! Prince Otavas is alive!"

The high-pitched whine of a buzzbug shattered the silence that followed into a thousand pieces. Her brows drawing slowly together, Karlene froze and studied Gyhard's face. Her finger curled protectively around the ring and her other hand made a fist to match it.

"You knew that." She took a step toward the corral. "You knew he was alive." Another step. "You let me think he was dead and you knew he was alive! You low-down…" Rage merged the words into a single note that got louder and more shrill and became a weapon that flayed the truth away from any further lies.

Gyhard clamped his hands over his ears and dropped to his knees.

He'd barely hit the ground before Vree had the bard by the shoulders. "Karlene!" she shouted, dragging the taller woman around to face her. "It's Bannon's body! You're hurting Bannon's body!"

The note continued to ring for a heartbeat after Karlene released it. When she shook her head, Vree let her go and stepped back. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked when Gyhard looked up.

His laugh was shaky and scornful both. "You would have rather believed he was alive, surrounded by the walking dead? Every moment aware of what his fate was likely to be?"

Karlene stumbled back, face pale, the fist clutching the ring raised to her mouth. She trembled on the edge of flight for a long moment, then whirled and ran toward the river.

"You expect me to believe that you didn't tell her for her own good?" Vree growled as Gyhard heaved himself up onto his feet.

He met her eyes and quickly looked away. "No," he sighed. "I don't expect you to believe that."

"Good." She moved to follow the bard then stopped and turned to face him again. "You're a real shit, you know that?"

This time the laugh held only self-mockery. "Yes. I know." He watched her stride off after Karlene and wondered if she realized that he hadn't known it, until her.

"He's alive."

The old man had heard the words as clearly as if they'd been Sung beside him.

"They're out there now, looking for me. They'll find me."

No. They would not.

Chapter Fifteen

Swaying in the saddle, Neegan approached the way station just as the red ball of the sun sank below the horizon. His exhausted horse, ears pricked forward, lengthened its stride as they left the road. There was a stable waiting and grain and rest. It walked into the corral and stopped.

Neegan twisted around just enough to see the open gate. He stared stupidly at it for a moment and turned again to stare at the building. There were no lights lit, no smoke rising, no smell of an evening meal. There were also no enemies, he realized, grimacing in self-disgust, or he'd have been shot where he sat.

He dismounted awkwardly and looped the reins around the upper rail of the fence. The dusk should have been as easy for him to read as the day, but his head pounded too viciously for him to make sense of what he saw. Dagger drawn, he entered the building through the stable, boots kicking through a cluster of bloated flies that had settled around a bloody stain on the packed earth floor. More flies rose as he entered the main room.

A quick search determined that four people had died without a struggle, that the bodies and the armor of the four soldiers who had held the station were missing.

Neegan fingered the onyx medallion around his neck. He'd never considered himself a religious man, but he knew death in all its many forms and did not understand what had happened here.

When he returned to the corral, the station's two horses had joined his and all three were waiting to be fed. Frowning, he closed the gate. If the soldiers were dead, why had those who killed them taken the armor but not the horses to carry it? And what had happened to the bodies? If the soldiers were alive, why had they left the station and abandoned the horses? And who had died? And what had they done with the bodies?

With the horses tended to, Neegan lit a lantern and searched the immediate area. There were no patches of loose earth large enough for a mass grave. The privy hid no bodies. If the newer parts of the manure pile had been turned recently, he couldn't spot the disturbance. He'd have been furious had he known what to be furious about—massacre or desertion.

"More questions," he growled. His targets had been trailing unanswered questions in their wake since they left the Sixth Army.

Finally, he went inside, found the medical supplies, and built a small fire in the hearth. As little as he wanted to admit it, he needed to numb the pounding in his skull and he needed rest.

Even if his targets had made the distance they'd made every day since the Capital, he'd still be breathing death on the backs of their necks. One more night would make no difference and then he'd find his answers along the edge of a blade.

They'd reached the ford as the night turned to morning. Otavas had moaned once as the cart bounced through the shallow water and headed east in a line with the mountains, but the old man had Sung quietly to him and he hadn't woken.

Now, in the tentative light of dawn, the old man stared down at his heart and decided not to wake him right away. "Let him rest," he whispered, stroking a tangle of dark hair back from a grimy cheek. "He looks so peaceful when he sleeps."

Gripping the top board of the cart with one hand and his staff with the other, he dragged himself up onto his feet. The track they followed could no longer be called a road; soon, he knew, it would disappear altogether.

He looked back the way they'd come. He could no longer see the river.

Near tears, he lowered himself back down beside the pallet. He had never left any of his family alone before. He hadn't wanted to do it, had almost changed his mind when he looked back and saw them standing forlornly by the water's edge, staring after him, but he hadn't had a choice.

"I did it for you, my heart." He drew the dark head up onto his lap and Sang softly of the life that they'd share.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Karlene pulled up and yanked the bay around in a tight circle, sawing at his mouth with the bit. "What are you doing?"

Vree dropped out of the saddle and threw her reins up to Gyhard. "When this stuff's dry, it doesn't mark worth shit," she muttered, kicking at the double ruts that led down to the river.

"Have we lost them?" The bay bucked, responding to Karlene's emotions. "Vree! Answer me!" she snapped. "We've got to rescue the prince today!"

"Sod you!" Vree spun around and glared up at the bard. "I'm not a scout, I'm an assassin. You want me to climb over a wall and slit a throat, fine! You want me to track the pattern of guards, fine! But following a bunch of dead guys and a produce cart in the middle of nowhere is not what I'm trained for. I'm doing the best I can!" She stopped, looked confused at her own vehemence, and brushed the hair back off her forehead. "Bannon?"

He sounded amused. "That wasn't me, sister-mine."

"Vree, I'm sorry." Karlene sucked in a deep breath and made a visible effort to calm down. "It's just that he's…" Her hand sketched horror in the air. "… alive."

"I know." And there were four soldiers who were neither alive nor dead. She glanced up, met Gyhard's eyes, and hurriedly looked away. "This track probably leads to a ford. I'm going to check to make sure they haven't crossed the river."

"I'll come with you…"

"No." She slapped the word up like a physical barrier, and it rocked Gyhard back into the saddle.

He watched her move down to the water until the heat of Karlene's gaze pulled him around. The bard had not spoken two words to him since the way station and Vree had stayed close by her side. "If the prince has gone insane," he said mildly, "which is entirely possible given the length of time he's spent surrounded by the walking dead, can you Sing him up out of shadow?"

Karlene jerked back as though he'd struck her and Gyhard found himself not enjoying her reaction as much as he thought he would've. He sighed and shook his head. "Kars has likely kept him asleep for most of the journey—he can't be in any condition to run after the prince should His Highness attempt to escape."

"Do you think that asleep he'd be…" She searched for a word, hope overriding anger. "… protected?"

I haven't the faintest idea
. But while he cared not at all for her opinion, he needed
Vree
to stop staring at him like he'd crawled out from under a rock. "Yes."

Vree squatted at the river's edge and rubbed her palms together as she stared at the point where the track disappeared under the water. A shelf of rock made it impossible to tell for certain, but she thought she could see the marks made by a recent passage. She'd have to cross to the other side to be sure.

Lips pressed into a thin line, she unbuckled her sandals and threw them up on the bank. The heavy leather was still damp from the rain and she had no intention of getting them any wetter. Two thirds of the way across, with the river lapping at her knees, she froze, hair lifting off the back of her neck.

"Bannon…"

"I know."

Her gaze slid quickly over the break in the thick tangle of willows, then dropped back to her feet as they began to search for new footing against the bottom. "Bannon! What are you doing?"

"We're going back. Something's not right."

Until he attempted to take control, she'd intended to return as well. But it was her body—hers—and she would not allow him to move it about like a game piece. The water roiling around her legs as she all but danced in place, Vree fought to push her brother back.

"There's something in the trees across the river." Gyhard rose in his stirrups. They were waiting at the point where the track joined the road and he had a clear view. "There's nothing there."

"The living can't, or won't, acknowledge the living dead, and so they look right by."