Kigh - Fifth Quarter Part 44

at the chance to believe she still thought of him first. It hadn't taken much effort; she'd spent her life protecting him from pain.

"I'm going to have to set this," she muttered, needing to fill the silence.

Gyhard-who more than anything in the world wanted to know why Vree had stopped her brother from killing him-dragged his tongue over dry lips. "You sure you know how?"

Vree snorted. "No. If we get injured in the middle of an enemy camp, we go looking for a healer. Karlene hold his elbow. Brace yourself," she added as the bard grabbed on where she indicated.

Gyhard swallowed. Hard. "Aren't you supposed to say you won't hurt me?"

"No." And she pulled the bones straight.

"Better him than me," Bannon snarled as Gyhard paled, moaned, and fainted.

Vree lightly brushed the backs of her fingers over the dark bristles that delineated her brother's jaw. "Do you remember when you took that quarrel in the leg and I had to threaten to carry you before you'd stop telling me to go on alone because you'd only slow me down."

"You took the quarrel, Vree."

"No, I..."

A scream from farther down the hill ended the argument.

Gyhard's horse lay panting on its side, unable to rise. A gash deep enough to show bone over one eye explained why it had remained quiet for so long. As Vree and Karlene approached, it began to thrash, as much in terror as pain.

"That front leg's smashed," Karlene said softly, trying not to cry. "We can't leave it like that."

Vree turned to stare at her in horror. "What do you mean?"

"You'll have to kill it."

"No." Vree backed up a step and nearly fell on the uneven slope. "I can't."

"What?"

"I can't."

Karlene couldn't believe what she was hearing. The horse screamed again. "You just killed your own father!" The accusation carried the shrill edge of hysteria.

"He was going to kill me. I had to survive." Her voice held the echo of a hundred lessons then it broke. "But I can't kill a helpless animal. I can't. I can't." She sank down to her knees and covered her face with her hands. "I just can't."

"It's all right." Karlene touched the younger woman gently on the shoulder. If Vree needed to react to this when she'd reacted to almost nothing else, the bard wasn't going to stop her. "Give me your dagger and tell me what to do."

There was a great deal of blood on the ground before the injured animal finally stilled. Karlene kept one hand pressed against its side and Sang comfort in time to its failing heartbeat. She didn't know if it helped- bardic theory was split over animal reaction to Song- but she figured it couldn't hurt. When the last heartbeat faded away, she Sang the horse into the evergreen pastures of the Circle and slowly stood.

Vree still knelt where she'd left her, staring blankly at the crimson puddle and thinking... or possibly, not thinking. Karlene wanted to help but didn't have the first idea of what to do or say. She was afraid Vree would have to find her own Song.

From where she stood, she couldn't tell if Gyhard had regained consciousness nor did she much care one way or the other.

They'd be walking now. But with the destruction of the cart, so would the old man and Prince Otavas.

The prince could no longer be kept asleep.

Would he be walking, or walking dead?

As the sun moved down the sky and the shadows lengthened, the old man gently woke the young man sleeping by his side.

Otavas pushed himself into a sitting position and stared around him in confusion. The brilliant eyes that one besotted courtier had compared to onyx in moonlight were dull and ringed with shadow, the thick fringe of lash broke into crusted clumps. "Where... where are the cousins?" he asked as he did his best not to see Kait and Wheyra, Hestia and Iban.

"They left us long ago, my heart."

"They did?" Otavas frowned, trying to remember. Why was it so hard?

The old man pushed a rough wooden bowl into his hands. "I have made you mush, my heart."

Fighting to shove aside the hours of Commanded sleep, Otavas scooped the warm mush up on two fingers and wondered when he'd learned to eat like a peasant. Or had he always known? He couldn't seem to reach the memories of his old life-his life before the old man and the dead.

"Eat it quickly, my heart," the old man told him. "For we must flee."

"Flee? Flee what?" When the old man hesitated, Otavas grabbed at a skinny arm. "You have to tell me."

"Demons." The ancient eyes locked onto the young ones. "I never meant to bring you into such danger, my heart, but I will protect you. I swear it."

Demons. Otavas shuddered. Had they brought the darkness that haunted his dreams?

"I will protect you," the old man said again. "You must believe me."

Otavas nodded. The old man was the only thing that stood between him and the darkness.

Chapter Sixteen.

"They rested here." Vree straightened, one hand curled around the dagger at her hip, the other curled into a fist-both hands positioned so that her companions couldn't see the fingers tremble. They trembled nearly all the time. She couldn't seem to make them stop. With the side of one foot, she kicked more dirt over the small fire pit. "And not very long ago."

"Then we're close."

"Very close," Vree amended, squinting up the narrow canyon. They'd lost time by following the cart's trail to the top of the bluff for Kars and the dead and the prince had doubled back nearly to the track.

"It goes to an old Imperial mine and smelter," Karlene declared, falling into a light recall trance. "It played out during the reign of the last Emperor although a few families are still sc.r.a.ping a living out of it."

"I don't see how," Gyhard muttered. "The area's been destroyed. There aren't two trees standing next to each other for miles."

To Vree, it merely looked like the southern parts of the Empire; only without the lizards. There were plenty of trees in other places; she couldn't understand what both Karlene and Gyhard had been so upset about. "Between the dead and Kars, they'll be moving slowly cross-country," she said. "And without the cart, they'll have to stop to sleep."

"Can we watch them?" Unable to remain still, Karlene twisted her hair into an impossibly tight braid.

Vree nodded.

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"If they sleep," Gyhard reminded them.

Karlene drew herself up to her full height, which was considerably taller than

either of the Southerners. "The prince was alive at the way station."

"A lot has happened since then," Gyhard remarked mildly.

"He's alive," the bard ground out through clenched teeth, "or your Kars wouldn't

be trying to stop us." "She's right." Vree forced her gaze up off the rough sling that bound Gyhard's broken arm to his chest. Bannon kept her eyes on it as much as he could, terrified he would have to watch helplessly while his body died. Vree could do nothing about his fear because if it became the only way she could save the prince, that was exactly what would happen. Her own fear, she kept where she always had.An honorable death.And maybe Karlene would Sing her to rest."You. You. Always you! What about me?"If Gyhard stayed away from the prince... She didn't know what she'd do.

Nothing? But Bannon had to have his body back.

"Come on," she said suddenly. "We're wasting time."

He listened for the demons at dusk. Long ago they'd come to him as the sun set, dancing on the evening breeze. They didn't come this night as they hadn't come for thousands and thousands of nights.

He dared to hope they'd died under the rock.

But demons were tricky, and he'd believed them dead before.

When he could no longer see where to place either feet or staff, he led the way to an outcrop of rock and sank to the ground.

Otavas stumbled after him, stomach growling. He didn't want to ask the old man for anything, but the old man was carrying the food. "I'm hungry," he said, sounding much younger than seventeen.

"Of course you are, my heart."

The three plums were not at their best, having spent the better part of two days in a calfskin pouch, but the prince wolfed them down, then licked the juice off his fingers. Two biscuits, hard and dry, and a few mouthfuls of tepid water finished the meal.

"In the morning, I will make mush," the old man told him. "And then we will gather up the bounty of the land."

"Bounty?" Otavas swiveled his head around and waved a hand at the canyon walls he couldn't see. "Of this land? There's nothing but a lot of rock and scrub!"

The old man sighed. "Do you remember how you used to set snares for the rabbits far away from the cabin because you knew I hated to hear them scream?"

"That wasn't me."

"Of course it was, my heart."

Otavas flinched back as an ancient hand reached out and unerringly patted him on the thigh in spite of the darkness. He frowned and rubbed at the place the old man had touched. He didn't know how to set a snare for a rabbit. Did he? Still frowning, he barely resisted as he was pulled down to pillow his head on a bony lap. Brushing a dangling finger bone off his cheek, he rolled over and stared up at the stars.

"You must sleep, my heart. We are still far from home and safety."

Otavas traced the Road to Glory with his gaze and twisted just far enough to see the four brilliant white stars that made up the points of the Imperial Diadem. Imperial... Emperor... Tears spilled out the corners of his eyes as he remembered. He was Prince Otavas, the Emperor's youngest son. Prince Otavas. He'd never set a rabbit snare in his life.

"Sleep, my heart."

Holding his memories like a shield, the prince fought the compulsion. And lost.

The old man looked to where his family sat, a semicircle of shadows against the shadows of the night. "We must keep watch," he told them softly, "so that the demons do not come on us unprepared." Wheyra, Hestia, and Iban, he turned around where they sat. Kait, he moved up to the top of the rocky outcrop he leaned against.

As she climbed clumsily in the darkness, he stroked the matted hair back off the face in his lap. "Remember how you would hold me when the demons tried to take my dreams? I will hold you now, my heart, and protect you as you so long ago protected me."

"We're staying here until the moon comes up."

"No." Karlene tried to push past her, but brown fingers clamped around her arm like an iron vise.

"You want a busted ankle to go with his arm?" Vree asked, pushing her face within inches of the other woman's. "If we can't see well enough to move safely, you can't."

The bard knew better than to try to pull away. "But we're so close."

"Close enough to trip over them. We don't want that." When Karlene nodded reluctantly, Vree released her and sank to the ground. Both hands searched for potential disaster-she wasn't certain fire ants even lived this far north, but she had no intention of finding herself sleeping on a nest. She rolled a few loose rocks out of the way and then thankfully shrugged out of the jury-rigged pack.

"We should've kept one horse for the gear," Gyhard muttered as he dropped the little he carried.

"We're trying to sneak up on them, and horses don't sneak worth s.h.i.t." Vree

stretched out, pillowed her head on the pack, then twisted so she could see Gyhard outlined against the stars as he settled down beside her."He's too close.""You can watch your body more easily.""Vree, he's broken my arm." A broken arm, no matter how cleanly the bone set, would never be as strong as it once was. He would never be able to depend on

his body as he had before Gyhard. "He has to pay for that."

"I know." He was so close, she could see the pain he tried to hide, see the way he held his left arm protectively with his right.

"You know what?" Gyhard asked, wondering why her words had sounded like