The Bird and the Sword (6 page)

P
ain bloomed hot and sharp across my face. The words clanging in my skull faltered and broke, leaving a dull ache between my eyes and a metallic taste in my mouth. Boojohni’s beard tickled my nose and his sour breath singed my eyebrows. I turned my head to find fresh air and forced my eyelids open, my hand going to my stinging cheek. Someone had slapped me. Hard.

“She’s awake. She’s awake!” Boojohni chortled, his relief making him giggle. I glowered up at him, noting that night had fallen while the battle raged. Of course I was awake. He helped me sit up and gave me a measure of space. He must have pulled me out from under the evergreen at some point. I swayed, and a hand shot out to steady me. I met the black eyes of King Tiras who was crouched above me. Even in the light of the fat, full moon he was filthy with gore, but he appeared uninjured. The same could not be said for more than half of his men. Bodies of the Volgar were intermingled with the dead and dying members of the king’s guard.

“They’ve gone, Lark!” Boojohni reported. “The beasts have gone. They just suddenly retreated.”

The king rose to his feet and turned away, dismissing me for weightier concerns. Those who were able were piling the bodies of the birdmen and tending to their own wounded and dead. The stench of blood and death clung to my every breath, but I rose to my feet as well, determined to assist where I could.

“We will send men back for the dead,” the king commanded, “but we leave now, while we still can.” His eyes rose to the skies as if expecting the Volgar to return. “They could have killed us all. Their retreat makes no sense.”

“The horses have scattered,” Kjell said in defeat. “And we have wounded who can’t walk.”

I took three steps on shaking legs and tugged at the king’s sleeve. I pointed through the trees.

He raised a black eyebrow. I tried to make my hand resemble a fleeing horse and looked to Boojohni for help.

“Lady Corvyn has a way with animals, Your Majesty,” he offered feebly.

“There are no animals left, Milady,” the King responded wearily. He knelt to check the pulse of a fallen guard. I could have told him the man was dead. His soul had flown, leaving him wordless and lifeless.

I pointed through the trees once more. I felt the fear of the horses and called them back. Horses were easy to sense. Their emotions were like great beacons, glowing in the dark. They’d run in fear, but they’d run in a circle, leaving a loud, red stream of desperation behind them. They weren’t far.

“If Lady Corvyn says the horses went that way, then the horses went that way,” Boojohni said simply. He sniffed the air and winced. “I will be able to get their scent once we put some distance between us and this place.”

“
We can’t go anywhere. We can’t leave these men, and we can’t carry them,” Kjell argued.

The king nodded, his eyes on my face.

“Are they close?” he asked.

I nodded. They would be soon. I could feel their thundering hearts slowing as their fear cooled. They wanted to go home.
Home. Home. Home.

“Show me,” he insisted quietly and wrapped his hand around my upper arm. Boojohni trotted along behind us, and the king didn’t protest, though Kjell had demanded to come as well and was denied.

“You can’t go off alone, Tiras,” Kjell argued. I’d noticed the familiarity between the two men. Unlike the rest of the guard, Kjell called the king by his given name, and he didn’t hesitate to voice his opinions.

“I won’t be far, Kjell. And we won’t be long. Stand watch.”

We walked in silence, and oddly, though the king gripped my upper arm, keeping me close, he let me lead. I was grateful for his hand; my rubbery legs and my ringing ears made each step treacherous.

I wanted someone to fill in the blanks for me, to tell me how long my eyes had been closed, how many had died while I’d tried to use my words. I wondered if I’d made the Volgar retreat, then felt silly and small at my wistful thought. I’d simply closed my eyes and wished while others fought. Once I’d made a poppet fly, but the Volgar? No. It was impossible.

I stumbled and the king’s grip tightened.

“We don’t have time to wander,” he murmured. His voice wasn’t harsh, but I could feel his impatience, his worry, and his doubt. The doubt made me stumble again.

I stopped and pulled my arm free. His words were too loud, and I couldn’t feel the horses. He released me without protest, and Boojohni raised his little nose to the air and sniffed. He sniffed again and chortled with glee.

“There.” He pointed directly in front of us. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard them. I felt them.

Home. Home. Home.

The king whistled sharply, and his doubt dissipated with an audible pop as a branch snapped and then another, drawing our eyes to the darkest shadows that shifted and changed and became horses, chuffing and picking their way toward us.

“All of them,” the king whispered, counting as the horses neared. Three dozen horses, led by the king’s black stallion, and near the rear, my father’s grey. The grey that had been taken from our stables.

“Shindoh,” the king greeted his mount, and he extended his hand in welcome. The huge charger nuzzled his palm gratefully.
Home.

I pulled away from the king and walked to the grey, greeting him with my own hand outstretched. When he whinnied and bumped me with his velvet nose, I looped my arms around his neck and rubbed my cheek against him. Then I turned and found the king watching me. I walked toward him, leading the grey, and when I reached him I thumped my chest.

Mine.

“The grey looks like a horse that was taken from Lord Corvyn’s keep, Majesty,” Boojohni explained. He knew full well it was the same horse but was wise enough to be judicious.

“Maybe it belonged to one of those soldiers your father sent, think you?” Tiras answered with a mocking twist of his lips. “We found him two days ago not far from Kilmorda.”

“That must be it, Highness,” Boojohni rushed to agree. I could only shake my head.

“You may ride the grey back home when your father fulfills his obligations,” the king murmured, and even the grey scoffed.

T
here was a horse for every man, even the dead and dying, but I still rode with the king. The fallen were tied to their mounts, and as the night deepened, we made our way down the road once more, descending into the lush, green valleys of Degn. We would reach the King’s fortress by dawn if the Volgar did not return.

I fought exhaustion for as long as I could, but my limbs shook and my head bobbed. The king cursed as I swayed and pulled me back against his soiled breastplate, supporting my hips between his big legs. I tried not to relax against him, but it couldn’t be helped, and when he swore again and tugged sharply on my hair, I bowed my head in defeat.

“Stubborn woman. Sleep.”

I did for a while, cursing him even as I turned my face into his shoulder. But when the moaning of the wounded waned and the light crept over the Jeruvian hills to the east, I opened bleary eyes on the domed fortress that would be my home for the unforeseeable future. Black ramparts and parapets and a wall that extended as far as the eye could see gleamed in the early light, the dark stone threaded with Jeruvian ore and the precious nacre that lined the ancient sea bed to the west. The women of Corvyn wore the stone in their ears and around their necks—the black iridescence made beautiful jewelry. Clearly, it was so plentiful in Jeru City they built walls with it.

“Welcome to Jeru, Lady Corvyn,” the king murmured, and pride rose from his pores like perfume. I pulled away from him and did my best not to breathe him in. The beauty of his city, of the king himself, was confusing to me. I doubt he noticed the stiff line of my back and the obstinate tilt of my chin; if he did he didn’t care. His relief at being home rivaled that of the horses, and it reverberated around him as if we were trapped in a bell tower.

As we approached the wall, a trumpet sounded and a massive door lowered in a well-oiled greeting. It was just after dawn but the city was awake and shouts of welcome rose up from the guard beyond the wall.

“Hail the king!”

“King Tiras has returned!”

“We have injured and dead,” the king called, his voice deep with fatigue. “See to them first. And alert their families.”

The guard who were able slid from their tired mounts and assisted those who weren’t. Kjell and King Tiras continued on through the wide street and climbed a tree and guard-lined hill to the domed fortress I’d glimpsed beyond the gates. When we neared the entrance, King Tiras swung off his horse and without fanfare, lifted me down behind him. My legs were like water, and they pooled beneath me. He swept me up again, much to my chagrin, and carried me across the courtyard, through palace doors that were opened for him with deep bows and stiff salutes, across a wide foyer and down a long hall which turned into the most enormous kitchen I’d ever seen. King Tiras plopped me unceremoniously on a kitchen stool and barked orders at the servants, who scurried from all corners.

“Feed her. Bathe her. Put her to bed.”

A woman in a dress of crisp black stepped forward, bowing deeply. She looked older than the tittering maids who watched the king with awe and admiration, and she seemed to be in charge.

“Yes, Majesty. Welcome home, Sire,” she said smoothly, eying me with equal parts disdain and curiosity. I had no doubt I resembled a skinned rat.

“And lock her in the north tower,” he added as he left, not looking back to see if his orders were heeded.

A
fter eating in the kitchen—a meal I was too tired to enjoy—I was escorted to the north tower, to a room so sumptuous it would have been a pleasure to be a prisoner if I’d cared about rose petals in my bathwater and sleeping on silk sheets. I didn’t. I was grateful I would not be cold or uncomfortable, hungry or naked, but beyond that, I longed for Boojohni and news of his welfare. I needed the woods near my home and my room at my father’s keep. I didn’t know if I’d ever return.

I was bathed and dried in front of a roaring fire, though the day beyond the open windows wasn’t especially cold. Lavender oil was brushed into my hair and massaged into my skin as if I were royalty instead of a captive from Corvyn. Three women attended me, and when their simple questions were met with my silence, they gave up trying to converse at all, sharing glances amongst themselves.

“Can you hear, Milady?” one asked, her voice sharp. They thought I was being quietly contemptuous.

I nodded.

“Do you understand us?”

I nodded again.

“Can you speak?” she snapped.

I shook my head, no.

She had the grace to look slightly chagrined, and the two other ladies-in-waiting tsked in shock.

“You don’t speak Jeruvian or you don’t speak at all?” the youngest of the three asked curiously.

I shook my head again. That was two questions with two different answers. But they seemed to understand when I touched my throat.

They murmured words of regret, and I knew they were bursting to discuss my ailment, if not with me, then with each other. The palace court would talk about me for a while, then they would forget about me all together. I had that effect on people. Silence was a close cousin to invisibility.

When they finally left me alone and locked the heavy door behind them as they’d been instructed, I crawled into the huge bed draped in white gauze and slipped between the downy covers, worrying again about Boojohni. I doubted he’d been given a second glance, not to mention a warm meal and a place to rest. But my final musings before succumbing to sleep were not of my faithful troll, but of the young king who reigned over Jeru. He was not what I had expected.