Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (5 page)

Nora ducked under a low branch and peered into the moonlit-crossed boughs of the trees to the west. She had seen a brook with high banks somewhere here earlier and didn’t want to fall and break her leg. A fallen tree lay stretched over the creek, its upturned roots a marker. The flowing water had dug deep into the earth; for twenty or so feet it meandered through sandy banks, then constricted once more at the next elbow in its path. The spring floods carved it deeper every year, no doubt. She let herself down onto the smooth wet sand and looked in all directions, just to be sure she was alone. Above her, the bank formed a lip that sheltered her from view. Below it was a carpet of small pebbles and larger rocks. Perfect. And if one of the men was downstream now, drinking from the water, so much the better. She pulled down her trousers with a grin and a sigh of relief. Then she heard the voices.

It was the prince whining, and the low rumble betrayed the master wight. They were talking in Kandarin, but she could discern some of what they said, having a basic grasp of the empire’s language through dealings with merchants. Diaz and Bashan weren’t talking shop, though, and neither wanted to buy or sell iron. Still, she could guess some of the unfamiliar words by their similarity to her own language.

“…don’t understand why you have to go away to meditate, Telen.”

“I need quiet. Solitude.”

“It’s quiet now. Stay here and meditate tonight. We can go on tomorrow and reach the temple before winter comes on strong.”

“I’m not asking for your permission, Bashan. I’m telling you I’m leaving for a day or two.”

Nora pulled up her trousers and pressed herself against the bank. Her heart skipped a beat. If the wight was leaving, she would leave in the opposite direction. This was a window of opportunity. Diaz said something, but she couldn’t make out the words. The men were moving upstream, so she followed under the bank.

“You swore an oath to me.” The prince again.

“And I will stand by it.”

“You wanted to help me find the Blade.”

“I will.”

“Then why leave? You’ve never left to meditate. You need peace and quiet? Fine. It’s quiet here. Meditate now! It’ll be quiet at the temple. Meditate all winter if you like. But I need you focused while we’re on the journey.”

Nora heard one of the men start to pace. Someone kicked a small rock over the lip of the bank and it splashed into the brook before her. She held her breath and pressed herself harder against the earth, into the shadow, in case one of them looked over.

“It’s enough that we’re dragging those kids along with us. They’re slowing us down.”

“I will hold you personally responsible if something should happen to either of them while I’m gone.”

“I
will
be personally responsible if she keeps on staring at me like that, insolent wench. Peasants should look down when talking to their superiors.”

“They are your future subjects. Treat them with respect. I believe Owen will be of great use to you, and he has an eager mind. You should pair him up with Shade. They’d both have the company of someone their own age. And they’d profit from each other.”

“Oh, here you go again. ‘You need to choose wisely, Bashan.’” The prince didn’t get the timbre right, of course—no one spoke as deep as the wight—but Nora thought the tone was spot-on.

“You do,” Diaz said calmly. “Your following is your reputation. These aren’t men who befit your stature.”

“They’re loyal.”

“For now.”

“When everyone left me, they chose to come when I called for aid.”

“They’re desperate men. And that shows you are too. And they’re a liability.”

“Lara wept! Not Moorfleet again?”

There was a pause. Nora pricked her ears. Her heart was racing. What about Moorfleet? Diaz let out a deep sigh.

“The nature of a man cannot be determined by his actions alone, I guess. Still. So much chaos. So much destruction.”

“It wasn’t my fault. Things got out of hand.”

“Take the city, you said. Take the city. Do you know what that means to these men? You sowed death, Bashan. Moorfleet was loyal to you, loyal to the true heir of the empire, until you torched it to cinders.”

“Then they should’ve given me what I wanted.”

“You think you’re closer to information on the whereabouts of the Blade now, after you burned the oldest, richest library in the north?”

Bashan snorted.

“Old, maybe. Rich? The realm of Moran has been dying for hundreds of years. It’s cold and wet and poor, and everyone hates everyone else here. There have always been bands of brigands in this part of the country. Look at those twins and tell me with a straight face they’re loyal subjects, if you can.”

“No. I have never seen as many brigands on the roads or in the wilds as we have encountered so far. And it will become worse now that Moorfleet has fallen. Something is amiss here in the north. Empress Vashti has called back the last legions of the imperial troops in order to protect the rest of the empire from the unrest in the north. No one can help the towns and villages when they are overrun by bands of marauders and wild men. Yet if you’d return to Moorfleet and make reparations, take control of the city, you could become a beacon in the north and make the counts and barons in Arrun wish they’d allied themselves to your cause sooner.”

“Diaz, I don’t want to rule this shithole. No one does. That’s why it’s in trouble.”

Nora held her breath. She could picture Diaz shaking his head in the brief silence.

“Prayers for the wicked must never be forsaken.”

A sharp intake of breath.

“Careful!”

“It’s what my father used to say.” Diaz paused. “I have lost my way and must meditate to regain my focus. I must do penance for my failure to protect the innocent. And I must pray for those who are on the silent road by my hand. I must do this alone.”

Bashan let out a long breath.

“Fine. Go do penance, then. But if you’re not back in two days, I can’t guarantee you’ll see that insolent wench alive again.”

“There are hundreds of ways I could lead you to your death, oath or no.”

“I was just kidding.”

“As was I. We will both remember it until I return.”

From the rustle of the undergrowth, Nora judged that one of them left. It sounded as though someone was making his way farther upstream, back to the open Plains. After a short quiet, a stream of hot piss poured over the lip of the bank and splashed on the bed of pebbles below. She heard Bashan sigh and she crept away downstream as quickly as she could, one hand trailing the earthen wall beside her until she could hoist herself back up. Giddy, she walked back to the camp, but she remembered to walk slower as though she was tired when she came close to the huge man on guard duty. He leered at her, but it was more of a generic leer because she was a girl and not because he was thinking of making a move.

Lying back-to-back with Owen against the cold stone walls of the crumbling ruins, she wrapped her cloak around her and listened to the wind howl over the empty Plains. Diaz had left. Bashan was a prick. He had burned Moorfleet, the jerk. She could be back home in a few days, pick up some supplies, warmer clothing, and head toward Dernberia’s port to take the first ship out of the north, out of trouble. She had a plan now.

T
hroughout the day, again and
again, Nora tried to get a glimpse of the lonesome black silhouette traveling northward until she couldn’t see Diaz anymore. The prince hadn’t been very amused in the morning. He had threatened the twins a bit but hadn’t ordered her bound again. Maybe it had helped to keep her eyes on his boots while he ranted. It helped her stop grinning, at least.

Dusk found the group at the ford of a river. The river’s fountains lay under the snow of the Crest Mountains, and the shepherds who walked the Plains in summer called it the Line. It was the natural boundary of the ancient realm of Moran, and beyond it was the Suthron Pass to the empire. Don’t cross the Line, the shepherds always joked. It wasn’t very funny, but then, they were shepherds. Sheep were an easy audience, Nora figured.

The river resembled the brook, only on a larger scale. The water had dug a deep path through the flatlands. Lots of rounded pebbles washed up on the embankments, with the occasional boulder strewn here and there, the water pooling around them, eating away at the bed beneath, though the water was shallow enough to cross at some sandy banks. Beyond lay another wood scene, a handful of trees grouped together against the wind. Nora nudged Owen’s side.

“Hmm?”

“Fall back,” Nora said.

“What?”

“So.” Prince Bashan slapped his hands together in the cold. “Who wants to go first?”

The men grumbled.

“Yeah, me neither.” The prince laughed. “Still, after we cross, I think we can risk a big fire or two tonight. Get warm again.”

No one moved forward.

“Fine. Follow me,” the prince said. He waded into the water, grimacing, but stopped after a moment to let the others catch up.

Nora let the other men go before her. She tugged at Owen’s sleeve to keep him by her side and gingerly stepped into the water as though she wanted to cross. The river was icy cold and swirled white around her leather boots. Footing was tricky as the pebbles and stones all moved. She took a deep breath, readying herself. They were nearly the last ones in the water. The huge man was bringing up the rear. He rubbed over his good eye, the blind one bulging from the cavity due to a large scar that ran down his face. He seemed tired, putting his weight on his spear that he was using as a walking staff among the slippery stones. That was good. That would make this easier. She splashed closer to him, dragging Owen with her.

“What are you doing?” her brother hissed.

The water was clear and ran smoothly. She could feel the stream pull at her feet as she waded in a bit deeper to get behind the man. He was breathing heavily. Old man. He was the only one close enough to come after them immediately. She’d have to take him out. Then at least she’d get a few minutes. Her heart missed a beat as her foot sank deep into a patch of sand. She swallowed hard. They were nearly in the middle of the river now. The water seeped through her trouser legs and into her tunic and cloak.

Now.

Nora gathered speed. She kicked away the spear butt and slammed into the man as hard as she could, making him keel over into the water. As he did, she grabbed the pommel of his sword and unsheathed it. The man went under, so she turned and grabbed Owen’s hand.

“Run!”

Her legs splashed the water up high as she ran, pulling Owen behind and raking the riverbed with the tip of the huge man’s sword, which was too heavy to lift above her head for long. The noise attracted attention. She heard the shouts of the men behind her and the man she had shoved came up again, sputtering and coughing and angry. Owen tore himself free.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a head start. Come on!”

“Nora!” Owen ran alongside her. “What’s your plan?”

“Run and hope they don’t come after.”

“Well, it’s not working.”

Nora risked a look over her shoulder. Her heart fell. Some of the men were already plowing through the water. The huge man was getting up and aiming with his spear. She turned, zigzagging across the green.

“This is crazy. Where are you going?”

“Away from these guys.”

The spear slammed into the ground next to her left foot with a sickening thud. She jumped to the right and bumped into Owen. He stumbled and grabbed her arm, unbalancing her. They both fell.

Her teeth clicked together hard and then she was kneeling, hands splayed on the ground. The sword was gone. There were shouts behind her, louder now, anger in the voices. But the sound was muffled by her pounding heart. Her hands tingled, and sweat dripped from her face. Nothing felt broken. Owen was at her side, groaning but stirring.

“Come on, Owen! We can still make it.”

“Gods damn you, Nora! I think you broke my nose.”

“Let me look.”

She pulled him to his feet and pried his hands away from his face. He was glaring at her, eyebrows knotted in a frown.

“There’s no blood. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” A blade dug into her back with menace. “Kneel.”

It was the young man Bashan had set to watch over them this morning. His voice still broke. A tall gangly youth, he was about their age, pale with close-cropped blond hair, and he obviously didn’t need to shave yet. But he was fast. Faster than Nora had thought. He had waded into the river just after the prince. Dammit. If she could reach her knife—she felt another blade push under her ribs.

“I should kill you right now.” The prince spoke with a flat, cold voice that made her knees buckle. “Give me a reason not to.”

She closed her eyes against his spit.

“I’m leaving. You don’t want me here anyway.”

“That is so true. But, unfortunately, I can’t just let you wander around telling people where I’m heading either. There’s this awkward thing called banishment on my head, and some people believe that’s the same thing as a bounty.”

“And who could I tell? Who’d believe me?”