North Star Guide Me Home (14 page)

Despite the festive feel, sentries had been posted, and as Rasten passed through the outer ring, a runner was sent to inform the commander, and the fellow came striding out to meet him as Rasten drew close.

Rasten had seen this man often enough to know his face and his name. ‘Commander Madric,’ he said as he swung down from the saddle. The lad who’d run to announce him silently took the reins.

‘Lord Rasten. Good of you to come. I take it the women found you without too much trouble.’

Rasten made a noncommittal noise. It was an unintended side-effect of the rituals. It gave the subjects a connection with him, albeit a tenuous one. None of them had learnt to reach him mind-to-mind, and he hoped it would stay that way, but some of them could locate him, much like a lodestone reaches for north. They shared a similar connection with Sierra, it seemed, a kind of kinship that passed through him. They could draw power from her, if she chose to grant it.

A flash of bright metal caught his eye, and Rasten looked around to see a table set up near the farmhouse door that men and women were crowded around, talking and laughing as they worked on something he could not see. Off to the side, a young girl of perhaps thirteen seemed to have just finished her task, and was holding it up to admire — a necklace of gold coins, pierced and knotted onto a cord. She hung it around her neck, then saw Rasten watching her and waved as she flashed him a smile. He bowed his head in a nod before turning back to Madric. ‘How is she?’

The commander followed his gaze. ‘Ilesha? Well enough, considering. I tried to send her to Lady Sierra, but she begged to stay with the exploratory forces.’

The girl was one of the few faces and names he
did
remember. She was the youngest he’d put to the ritual. He hadn’t wanted to do it — she was more a child than a woman, and he’d always hated working on children … but the Akharians had treated her as a woman grown, and he remembered only too well what it felt like to be thirteen years old and torn away from everything you knew and loved; powerless, helpless and in pain, desperate for anything that would give some small measure of control. How could he deny her, when he knew what it would have meant to him to receive such a gift? It still bothered him, what he’d done to her, but if she was doing well, if she could smile like that at the sight of him, then he was doing something good, after all. It was hard to think that way, sometimes.

That thought reminded Rasten of what he’d seen when the women encircled him. ‘The mage with the broken nose — you know the one?’ he said to Madric.

The commander nodded, and jerked his head towards the barn. ‘The new recruits are waiting — I expect you’ll want to get to them right away, as usual? Come, let’s talk on the way, where there are fewer people to hear.’ This last he said in an undertone. Rasten shrugged and gestured to the commander to lead the way.

‘I wondered if you’d notice anything strange about her,’ Madric said as they walked away. ‘There’s been some unsettling rumours. And then, with these new recruits — she was telling them some wretched awful tales about what to expect. I sent her to see what you’d think of her.’

‘She’s a Blood-Mage,’ Rasten said.

Madric faltered and nearly stumbled. ‘Fires Below,’ he muttered. ‘How? I thought that sort had to be initiated —’

‘No, any novice can stumble onto the path. Ones who are brought in by a competent mage are just harder to kill.’

Madric sucked a breath between his teeth. ‘Well, with Lady Sierra on hand it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll send word to the ki— to the prince, I mean, and have her taken to him for trial.’

Rasten turned to him. ‘Trial?’

‘We can’t just kill her. We’re not savages — we’re still bound to follow the laws.’

Rasten scowled down at his feet. It seemed ridiculous to him, but what did he know of living in civilisation? As far as he knew, a person was guilty if the king said they were … Besides, the woman would likely slip away long before reaching Cammarian. All they could give to escort her were the fledgling mages, and even a novice Blood-Mage could flatten them, unless Sierra lent them strength.

He shrugged again. ‘In that case I want a closer look at her. I’ll send word to Sirri myself of what ought to be done with her.’

‘That’d be very good of you, sir,’ Madric said. ‘I’ll see that it happens. When?’

‘Once I’m done with these newcomers,’ Rasten said. He’d just kill the fledgling Blood-Mage, and spare Sirri the trouble. He probably should have done it in the clearing. The attention he’d already showed her might be enough to warn her off — but he could always track her down. ‘Until then, have her watched.’

‘I’ll see she has no chance to work harm.’ Madric led him to a door at the side of the barn, and when he rapped his knuckles on the wood it was opened by a round-faced woman with her hair bound back into a sleek knot. ‘Ven will see to anything you need,’ Madric said. ‘I’ll speak to you later, Lord Rasten.’

It was cool and dark inside the barn, and Ven moved quietly as she shut the door behind him. ‘We have some folk on hand to take care of the recruits afterwards,’ she said. ‘They know to stay out of your way.’

Rasten nodded and walked into the cavernous space to look around. The floor had been swept clean and pots and buckets of water had been scattered around.

‘Do you want me on fire watch, sir?’

‘Not to begin with. I’ll call you if you’re needed.’

She only nodded in reply. He liked Ven. She was calm and quiet, she didn’t stare at him when she thought he couldn’t see and didn’t talk when it wasn’t needed. Standing this close, he could feel that her power had grown in the last few weeks, but it was quiet, deep and still, just like her.

Rasten rolled his shoulders and flexed his neck, feeling the joints crack and pop. He drew in a deep breath, taking in the scent of animals and earth, of old wood and hay. Soon enough the barn would stink of blood and fear, that old familiar reek, but for now he would draw the cleaner scents within him. He turned to Ven. ‘Bring the first one in.’

Cam reined his horse in at the crest of the hill, squinting at the surrounding slopes, half-hidden in a misty haze of rain. ‘Alright,’ he said, ‘where in the Fires Below are they?’

‘Tracks are still heading southeast, sir,’ the chief scout said.

Cam growled under his breath, and turned to Sierra, who’d pulled up beside him.

It still felt wrong to halt at the crest, where they’d be outlined against the sky. A year ago he’d have felt too vulnerable to consider it — they’d make a tempting target to a man with a crossbow, let alone the mage-crafted weapons the Akharians hoped to recover from Ricalan. At times, Cam still had to remind himself that Sierra had them shielded. ‘Sirri?’ he said.

‘They’re not close,’ she replied. ‘I can sense them, but only just. I think they’re retreating.’

Cam turned to the scout, raising one eyebrow.

‘Seems that way, sir,’ the scout said. ‘The tracks have them moving at a fair clip.’

Cam nodded, and twisted around in the saddle to look behind. If it weren’t for the low clouds and the constant drizzle of rain, he would see the hills slowly flattening out to the north as the damp grassland gave way to the arid interior. Behind them lay the rest of his camp … the women and children, the wounded and the elderly, along with the latest crop of mages under Delphine’s tutelage. When the outriders reported a legion approaching from the south, there’d been no question whether they’d ride out to meet them.

‘They could be holding back, hoping the weather clears, sir,’ the scout said. ‘If they fear it’ll worsen they might think it better to run than to fight in knee-deep mud.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe they don’t mean to fight us at all.’

Cam leant back to reach into his saddlebags, and pulled out an Akharian map case. Someone had taken the trouble to scratch away the imperial symbol, a bull poised to charge engraved onto the silver tube. As he spread the map across his knees and saddlebow, Sierra stretched over to peer at the markings. ‘So they came from the west.’

‘The supply train did,’ Cam said. ‘The legion seems to have come from the south or southwest, as near as we can tell.’

‘And now they’re heading southeast. Why? A supply train from the west, with the legion sent to escort it? That’s a cursed lot of men.’

That was one explanation. The camp to their north was only a small portion of Cam’s army, but it was the most vulnerable. The bulk of his fighting forces ranged ahead, freeing slaves and gathering supplies. For some weeks, Cam had wondered how long they had before the Akharians felt the bite of his depredations. Had they already grown desperate enough to bring in supplies from west of the empire? Perhaps, but why overland and so close to the enemy forces? The Akharians had to know it would make a tempting target. The legion offered them no protection. They knew by now that numbers were no obstacle to Sierra.

Cam studied the map, searching for a fortified town or a river to block the pursuer’s path, but there was nothing to offer any defence.

Sierra straightened in the saddle. ‘This puts me in mind of plovers drawing beasts away from their nests by feigning a broken wing.’

‘I was thinking much the same,’ Cam said, and he glanced up at the sky. It was early afternoon. This was the cold season for this part of the world, but he struggled to think of it that way — the days stayed light well into the afternoon, and though it snowed on occasion, it never lingered. Puddles might freeze at night, but never solid enough to bear a man’s weight, and in daylight they soon melted. His northerner’s mind couldn’t bear to think of it as winter.

Cam shook himself and turned to Sierra as he rolled the map up again. ‘Supplies or not, I don’t want to get too far from the base camp. We’ll halt, and send the scouts to see what they do when they realise we’re not following. Sirri, have our mages get in touch with the camp. Tell Rouldin to double the perimeter patrols and be on guard. If they see anything out of the ordinary, have them inform us right away.’

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

As she turned away, Cam signalled to his officers, but even as he passed on his orders, he felt a hard knot of unease forming in his belly. If the Akharians did mean to attack the camp, there was only one target of value. Killing the non-combatants would land a blow to their spirit and morale, but the true target could only be Delphine and her training camp for the new mages.

On the spur of the moment, Cam changed his orders. Instead of a halt, he called a retreat. They weren’t so far away, just a few days — at a hard pace, they could be back with the base camp within a day or two.

There was something out there.

The tent was dark. The only light came from the fire beneath the smoke-hole and a lantern hanging from the ridgepole.

Isidro stared up at the roof. How long had he been lying here with the single thought running over and over through his head?
There’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something …

He squeezed his eyes shut and raised his hands to his face. The left one made contact, but the right … for a moment he felt as though it was flailing around in empty space, somehow transported to a different plane than the rest of him, but after a moment he remembered.
Gone. It’s gone. Long ago, now.

By the Black Sun, he
ought
to remember. It was a blessing, really — it never pained him anymore, and he never grew feverish when his reserves ran low. He was better off without it. And yet sometimes he forgot that he no longer had a right hand … sometimes he forgot he’d ever been injured. Sometimes he found himself staring at his vacant sleeve, utterly unable to recall why a vital part of himself was missing.
I’m a warrior. How am I supposed to fight without a sword arm?

It always came back to him sooner or later, and then he cursed himself for his scattered wits. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t normally like this. Was he?

There’s something out there.

He was lying on his furs, fully dressed, aside from his boots. The tent was empty. He was alone.

There’s something out there.

Isidro heaved himself up, and winced as his head began to spin. He hooked his good arm around his knees, waiting for it to pass. Back when the wound on his arm was still fresh, he’d fainted when he stood too quickly. They’d never dared leave him alone. That was a while ago now, though. Was it weeks, or months? It could have been years for all he knew. The days ran together, seamless, unchanging.

There’s something out there.

‘What?’ Isidro demanded, and his own voice startled him, hoarse and rough in the dim silence. ‘
What
is out there?’

The only answer was the crackle of the fire burning low in the brazier, and the silent voice in his head.
There’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something …

With a groan he pressed his hand against his temple, sinking his fingers into his hair and gripping it tight, as though he could pull the maddening thought from his head. ‘Shut up,’ he growled. ‘Shut up, shut up.’

There’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something out there there’s something …

He huffed a breath and shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged on the furs. The right arm didn’t seem to know what to do with itself. There wasn’t much of it left — the stump below his elbow was shorter than the width of his palm, and the truncated arm hung awkwardly by his side. Isidro acknowledged the annoyance and dismissed it, as Delphine had taught him to do. She’d taught him to meditate, back when he was her slave. When Cam and Sirri were gone, lost seemingly forever, he’d used it to keep his head above the waters of despair that threatened daily to drown him. It ought to help now.

Isidro took a deep, slow breath and willed the tension from his muscles. It was only then that he noticed how tight his shoulders were, and that he was clenching his jaw so hard his head ached. He turned his attention further inward still, and tried to empty his roiling mind.

For a moment — a bare moment — it seemed to work, the storm inside his head calming to a peaceful sea. Then, it struck him with the force of a punch to the chin.
THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE!

With a wordless roar he found himself on his feet, and staggered. He’d stood too quickly. Somehow he kept his feet, and felt his hand bunching to a fist. He wanted to take a swing at something. He wanted to beat his head against a wall. Anything to make this incessant thought stop.
By the Black Sun,
he thought.
What is wrong with me?

You’ve lost your wits,
he told himself in reply.
They bled out along with your blood.

That’s right. They’d tried to tell him, many times. That’s why he always felt so confused, why he’d struggled in the early days to follow even a simple sentence … not that it was a great deal better now.

He remembered Delphine weeping. At the time, he couldn’t understand why. He’d tried to comfort her — he knew that’s what a man did when a woman wept. But when he’d tried to wrap an arm around her, it had only made her break down into choking sobs. Sierra had pulled him away, while Cam took Delphine off somewhere else. Devoid of understanding, stung by Delphine’s rejection and frightened by the fear in Cam’s eyes, Isidro had demanded to know what was wrong, and when Sierra couldn’t make him understand, Isidro had cursed her until she retreated too, leaving him to wallow in disorientation and bewilderment. He’d barely noticed that, as she left, she’d stooped to pick up something and carry it out of sight.

Now he understood what had set Delphine weeping. Sierra had retrieved a book, discarded on the groundsheet. He couldn’t remember what it was — the scratch-marks on the pages had meant nothing to him. There were hundreds of pages of them, an interminable number, unbroken by sketches or drawings that might have drawn his interest. Isidro couldn’t understand why she’d given him such a thing. He’d glanced at it briefly before setting it aside, and then he’d turned back in time to see her crumple.

Now, it was all too clear. The man she’d fallen in love with, the man she’d sacrificed her home and safety and career for, was gone. He’d died on the sunbaked rocks when Rasten sawed through the splintered bones of his arm, the essence of him seeping away into the dusty soil. What was left was just a shell.
I’ve lost everything that made me who I am,
Isidro thought.
Losing my sword hand was bad, but I could go on without it. I still had my mind, and with that I could find other ways to fight. But now … there’s nothing left of the man I was.

And there’s something out there.

Isidro felt his jaw clenching tight again. One of these days, he imagined, his teeth would crack under the force, shattering to splinters like old dry bone.

There’s something out there.

He drew a deep breath. Well, if the nagging, incessant thought wouldn’t be dismissed, he would cursed well find out what his broken mind insisted was so important.
Alright,
he said to himself with a sigh of defeat.
Where?

He let his mind go still, inwardly bracing himself for impact when it screamed into his skull again —
THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE
— he turned on his heel until he felt it, calling like a beacon, like a signal fire on a dark night.

Something moved inside him, like a snake wrapped around his spine, shifting in restless coils. Isidro’s belly clenched tight. His tainted power had awoken.

Long ago, someone had told him to think of power as water flowing through packed earth, and the source of it, the coil of energy around his spine, as a spring. Last summer, Kell had thrown something rotten into that spring. Ever since, the poison had been spreading through him in a slow seep, turning his power into something polluted and foul.

At first he’d tried to fight it — he drained off his power to starve the beast, and barricaded off the link with Sierra that let her power flow into him. But doing so left him as weak as a new foal. He’d made himself wait until he was stronger, and as his vigour returned he realised how foolish he’d been — he couldn’t starve the beast without starving
himself
. He could no more cut it out than he could cut out his bones. Kell hadn’t tainted his power — he’d tainted
him
.

Just what that meant was a question too great for his weakened mind to answer.

The intrusive thought was still there, beating against his skull like a moth battering at a lantern.
Theressomethingouttheretheressomethingouttheretheressomethingoutthere …
Isidro steeled himself to reach for the poisoned well of power. Perhaps he could wall it out, erect another barricade like the one he’d built against Sierra’s seeping power. But the moment he touched it, something shifted in his mind, unfolding like an insect spreading its wings.

Men. Men and horses. Soldiers. Mages. Lying in wait. He could sense their direction, though he couldn’t have given its bearing by compass. He’d been too long inside this tent, inside his own mind, cut off from the world. Even so, he could feel them, as if the land was a piece of cloth stretched taut, and the forces lying in wait were a weight placed upon it.
Theressomethingouttheretheressomethingouttheretheressomethingoutthere …

‘Have to tell Cam,’ Isidro heard himself mutter. ‘Have to tell Sirri. There’s something out there. Men. Soldiers. Mages. Have to warn them …’

‘Issey?’

The voice came from over his shoulder, and Isidro froze. The beast stirred — it was his blood-tainted power that had sensed the encroaching threat and sent the nagging warning. And now it sensed some other prey, far closer and more vulnerable. A small morsel, but an easy target.