Well of the Damned (25 page)

“What
has Tyr done to you?” Vandra asked.

“He
done nothin’ to me, but he spent years roundin’ up
orphans livin’ on the streets and sellin’ them to slavers
who dock near Lavene at night. I met him when he first came to
Thendylath. Damn near got himself killed by some brigands in an
alley. He seemed like a decent buck at the time, naive but kindly. I
should’ve let him die.”

When
the meal was eaten and the flasks were refilled with water, Gavin
left a handsome gratuity for the barmaids who had to clean up the
mess on the table. The battlers called for their horses and helped
the stable hands saddle them up.

Fyncent
and Mikesse walked with them outside, shook hands with them all and
wished them well.

“There’s
still time to change your mind about that tumble,” Fyncent
said.

Daia
made a rude gesture with one hand.

“Any
idea where she might be headin’?” Calinor asked.

“Let’s
see if I can find her.” Gavin connected with Daia and used the
gems in his sword to strengthen his magic. He let his hidden eye
float up high above the trees. Though it was night, this type of
vision didn’t require light. He searched first north, looking
for Cirang’s dark, turbulent kho-bent haze, then south.
Something resembling a haze lay beside a stream not far from the calm
white haze of a horse. All animal hazes were plain white, he’d
noticed, where human hazes were usually blue, yellow or white with
colorful accents. In time, he’d learned to tell horse hazes
from deer, fox, squirrel and dog by the way they pulsed, like a
heartbeat. The one thing he couldn’t do was differentiate
between two horses. They looked identical to him.

“South,”
he said. “She’s heading towards Ambryce and has a good
lead on us, but she’s camping for the night. We’ll close
the distance, though she’ll reach the city well before we do.”

“Could
we send a bird?” Brawna asked. “If there are any warrant
knights or former Sisters in Ambryce, they might be able to apprehend
her for us.”

“This
village has no roost,” Vandra said. “We’d have to
go back to Calsojourn.”

That
was something Gavin would change. The Lucky Inn was strategically
positioned for all travelers. The only reason the village hadn’t
grown into a larger city was because the nearest water source was an
hour’s ride away, and they relied on rain barrels to provide
their supply.

While they rode by the glow of
Gavin’s light ball, his companions reminisced about meeting
Gavin for the first time, each telling his tale. Calinor he’d
met while fighting beyonders during a storm, when the rift kept
opening and letting more of the monsters through. Twenty-four lay
dead by the time they were satisfied no more would come that night.
They’d shared a skin of wine while Calinor stitched Gavin’s
deeper cuts and chaffed him about being too aggressive and overeager.

He’d
first met Daia when she enlisted his aid finding the kidnapped
blacksmith who’d crafted Aldras Gar. It wasn’t until she
fought Sithral Tyr on the road that he realized how skilled a fighter
she was. Tyr had two blades to her one, and she didn’t even
have a shield, yet she came away without a scratch, while Gavin had
been run through the lung by Tyr’s companion, Toren Meobryn.

He’d
met Brawna in the woods after deciphering the fourth king’s
rune. The Viragon Sisterhood, under the control of Brodas Ravenkind,
had sent battlers to the rune cave to lie in wait for him. Gavin had
killed Brawna’s companion for attacking him, but he’d
spared Brawna, whose innocence and concern for him had made it clear
her honor was still intact. He later found her unconscious in the
carriage with Tyr and Meobryn, bleeding from the multiple stab wounds
they’d inflicted while torturing her for information about
Gavin. She’d nearly died to protect his identity, and Gavin had
promised her a place by his side.

Vandra
was one of the first to leave the Viragon Sisterhood to pledge her
service to the new king. She’d been disillusioned by Lilalian’s
careless leadership and had volunteered for every task Gavin had
needed during his ascension to the throne.

Spending
time with his friends trading stories, Gavin realized for the first
time that he hadn’t laughed much since Rogan died. It felt good
to wear out the muscles in his face and belly, to laugh so hard he
lapsed into coughing and nearly tumbled from Golam’s back.
Though the two men’s language was coarse, Daia seemed to enjoy
herself as well, contributing her stories with the rest of them. To
his surprise, Gavin was the first among them to yawn.

He’d
created a magic ball of light that burned brightly enough to
illuminate the road in front of the horses even during the darkest
hours, but it was time to rest. They followed their ears to a nearby
creek where the horses could drink, and they dismounted to prepare
camp.

Under
the magical rain canopy, everyone claimed their sleeping spot for the
night and began to lay out their bedrolls, but before Gavin settled
in for the night, Calinor pulled him aside. “Say, Gavin,”
he said, averting his eyes. “A quick word, if you don’t
mind. I’m gettin’ a bit long in the tooth, an’ I
wouldn’t mind settlin’ in one place. I was hopin’
you could use a strong sword arm and the experience of a gray-beard
on a more permanent basis. You know, in Tern.” He grinned in
the self-conscious, embarrassed way a man did when he asked a favor
he didn’t particularly want to ask.

Gavin
grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It so happens I
could. Hell, I’d be a fool to turn down a battler like you. I’d
be honored to have you join my garrison.”

“I’m
much obliged, my friend. It’s my very great pleasure to see a
man o’honor, integrity, and courage sittin’ where you’re
sittin’.” Calinor went to one knee onto the wet ground
and bowed his head.

Gavin
felt the blood rush to his face. He still wasn’t used to people
doing that, especially not a friend who’d been a mentor to him
in his early years as a warrant knight. “Get up, Calinor, damn
it. You’ve proven your friendship and loyalty over and again.”

The
battler held his position for several more heartbeats, and when he
rose, wetness in his eyes betrayed the stony expression on his face.
“And I’m damned proud, too,” he said quietly.
“Damned proud.”

Chapter 28

Cirang
followed an old path marked on the map that led straight towards the
Superstition Mountains. She’d traveled the road to Ambryce at
least a dozen times during her years as a Viragon Sister and had
never noticed it fork before, probably mistaking it for a deer trail.
The ground was soft enough here for her horse to leave well-defined
hoof prints among the coyote and deer tracks. If Kinshield saw them
diverging from the main road, he would follow her, though she had
several hours’ lead. Perhaps by then, the rain would make her
horse’s tracks look like ordinary puddles.

The
path sloped gradually upward as she neared the mountain, with not a
single town or village along the way to restock supplies or stay a
night, though she did cross two small streams and used them to
further disguise her direction. She stopped to fill the two
waterskins Vandra had tied to her horse, and tore off a chunk of
dried pork to eat on the way. She had to let it soften in her mouth
before chewing it, but with a swallow of water, it went down easily
and would give her the energy for whatever lay ahead.

She
stopped at the foot of the mountain pass, looking up, blinking
against the rain that hit her face. This trail obviously hadn’t
been used in many years, perhaps not since before King Arek’s
time. If she’d thought it through better, she’d have
taken the mule for its sure-footedness over the battle horse, but
then she’d have had no food or waterskin and would have had to
go to Ambryce first to get supplies. Although the horse hadn’t
shown a tendency to drag its feet or stumble, even the more gradual
parts of the path were steep enough to give her pause. She considered
leaving the horse here to go on foot, but that would make escaping
Kinshield more difficult if he chanced riding up.

Her
decision made, Cirang clicked her tongue, leaned forward over her
mount’s neck and began to ascend. Some of the stones beneath
the beast’s hooves shifted under its weight, causing it to
stumble now and then. Cirang began to second-guess herself, but urged
the horse on with gentle words and a pat whenever it paused. In the
steeper or more rugged places, it surged up with its powerful rear
legs, scrabbling on the rocky ground. Cirang had to practically hug
its neck to keep from sliding off the back end. On a flatter part of
the trail, she took a moment to dismount and tighten the girth strap
before continuing on, though she kept the balls of her feet on the
stirrups so she could jump free if the horse fell.

There
on the side of the mountain, she felt exposed as she looked down at
the treetops below. Because she couldn’t make out the path
she’d taken through the trees, perhaps her pursuers wouldn’t
be able to see her either. There were plenty of turns and twists in
the trail, and she wasn’t even sure she was overlooking the
right place.

The
horse continued to climb while Cirang tried to ignore the growing
ache in her hip and back. Several times she considered turning back
and giving up this quest. At first, she thought the posture she had
to maintain as the horse trudged uphill was wearing on her resolve,
but after a while, a feeling of trepidation seeped into her
consciousness. She began to doubt her plan. When the horse’s
foot slipped on the wet path, she gripped his mane tightly, her
misgivings stronger. Even if this wellspring was real, what
foolishness had persuaded her that the water was magic or that she
should dally with things she had no understanding of? After all, she
was in this mess because of people dallying in magic they didn’t
understand.

Near
the top of the mountain, the slope became more gradual, and she let
the frothy horse walk at a leisurely pace. She dug the journal out of
her pack and began to flip through it, shielding its pages from the
rain with her cloak. She didn’t know how she would find
anything in the book that would shed light on her disquiet or warn
her away from the spring, as the entries bounced around from one
subject to another, divulging information in anything but a logical
sequence. She would have to stumble upon the words that described her
apprehension, and she wasn’t sure Sevae had ever actually come
to the wellspring. Everything he’d known about it, or thought
he knew, was hearsay.

Disgusted,
she put the journal back and dismounted to give the horse a rest,
though she continued on foot, grunting with the exertion. She paused
to drink deeply from one of her two skins and fed some of it to the
horse. She’d started the journey with two full waterskins and
soon realized it wouldn’t be enough. Once she arrived at the
top, perhaps she would drink the wellspring water herself, and then
she would know first-hand — perhaps be the first person in
centuries to know first-hand — what the value of the water
truly was.

The ache in her back deepened as
she continued to climb, while her stomach churned. The anxiety
worsened with every step, but her will was stronger than her fear.
When she came to a fork in the trail, she opened the journal once
again and consulted the map. To the right, the trail sloped downward,
towards the Flint River, which flowed past Ambryce. To the left, it
would lead her to the mountaintop and the wellspring. It was a
gradual incline, but her aching back and hip made the hike that much
more difficult. She climbed stiffly back into the saddle and rode the
last half hour.

When
she crested the peak, the rain stopped. Behind her, the gray clouds
continued to spill water onto the hapless citizens of Thendylath,
while here, they parted to show her the blue sky above and the sun
that instantly warmed her head and shoulders.

She
should have been relieved, but her stomach was in knots and her hands
trembled. For the first time since her death, she felt fear —
the most repugnant emotion, aside from love. Was this her survival
instinct warning her to abandon this notion? Her next death would be
her last. There was no magic or soulcele token to save her this time.
She dismounted and stretched her aching back and hip, pretending
there was nothing to be concerned with, pretending she didn’t
feel the urge to sprint back down the way she’d come. Denying
the fear would let courage refill her heart. She realized her
breathing was almost as frenzied as her heartbeat and tried to focus
on the techniques the Nilmarions used to relax and calm her racing
thoughts.

Look
around. What do you see?

Trees.
Harmless pines and firs. A rock in the shape of an eagle perched atop
several larger boulders, overlooking the valley below.