Carol Berg - Breath and Bone

“Zurina is no fool,” I said. “She’s surely got her reasons—and her orders. And certainly Thane Boedec and his warhost will be ready to meet whatever comes. Does Voushanti know that Perryn rides with Sila?”

“Aye,” said Melkire. “He received the report.”

“Good. Stand fast and have faith in your prince and your commander,” I said. “Guard them well, warriors. And may your gods do the same for you.”

“Godspeed, pureblood,” said Philo. “It gives us heart to know you are with us.”

I wished I had more reason to be optimistic. And this matter of Bayard…

A few steps took me to a patch of bare ground behind the bakehouse. Though lacking a sample of Max’s own blood, I squeezed a few drops from the fresh cut on my thumb and used it to touch earth with magic. Whether it was the half-Cartamandua blood or merely the heightened alertness of this day that fed my skill, I located him quickly.

Spirits and demons… Max had crossed Caedmon’s Bridge into Evanore. Bayard’s legions could not be allowed to join Sila’s. So great a host could overwhelm Osriel’s fragile trap, or break too quickly through the defense Voushanti would mount for Osriel. Osriel must not be forced to take action before Kol’s release of power at the change of season.

I pelted through the halls and passages of Renna. In a great show of noise and sparks I burst a bar on the wicket gate, then promised the quaking gate guards dogs’ faces if they failed to let me out. Bayard wouldn’t listen to me. I needed to see Max.

Out on the open hillside, I stripped and bundled my clothes, tying them over one shoulder, and touched earth again. Carefully I recalled the landscape of the southern bridge approaches—a steep descent from the mountains over treeless slopes, leveling out only within the last quellé. As certain as I could be of Max’s position along that road, I headed northward along Renna’s rutted road to the point where it began its steep descent. Holding the two landscapes in my head for similarity, I worked the shift…

Two riders pulled up sharply when I stumbled through a washed-out rut ten paces in front of them. Unfortunately, they were but the first of a sizable vanguard and neither of them was Max.

One sidewise glance and I dived off the road, tumbling farther than I liked down a precipitous slope of rocks and scrub into what appeared to be a snow-choked gully. I landed facedown and skidded farther yet, digging in my toes as my head and shoulders crashed through brittle branches and crusted snow. When I came to a stop, my head hung out over a precipice of at least a thousand quercae. My stomach plummeted the entire depth; thankfully, my body did not.

I held still, stifling my gasping breaths, while fifty other horsemen passed by and the two riders argued with each other about exactly what they had seen, and whether the slope was too dangerous to explore. As my legs began to cramp from my desperate hold, another man joined them.

“A naked demon glowing with light, you say?” said the newcomer, snorting in sarcasm after their lengthy description. “More likely a boulder tumbled off the cliff. Speak such foolishness again, and I’ll conjure tails on your backsides.”

“Aye, master.” The clank of harness and whuffling of horses was followed by departing hoofbeats. But only two beasts had gone.

“Are you falling out of the sky now, Valen? Pardon if I don’t come down to join you.”

I crept backward crabwise. Once I found a firmly rooted branch to rest my foot on, I turned around and scrambled upward. “I need to talk to you, Max.”

He dismounted and sat on the verge of the shelf road, waiting, examining me carefully as I crouched just below him so as to remain out of sight of the road.

“First you must tell me what you are,” he said in as soft a voice as ever I’d heard from him. “And who you are.”

I extended my arm so he could see. “I’m still kin—of Cartamandua blood. It just happens my father was not Claudio, and my mother was not human.”

“Not human…” He stared at the sapphire seagrass and the snarling cat, but did not touch them.

“You’re not half so surprised as I was. But much as I would love to share the tale—one could say I’m the younger brother of a map—we’ve far more important business. Bayard was supposed to wait at the bridge.”

Max tore his gaze from my hand. All wariness now, he scanned the cliffs and the upward road, as if hordes of my kind might be lying in wait. “Bayard released Perryn to ride with him, believing him chastened by his tongue-tied captivity. Then the little fair-haired weasel rode ahead with the priestess. It makes Prince Bayard exceeding nervous—the idea of Sila, Perryn, and Osriel working some compromise without him.”

“Listen to me, Max, and believe. There will be no compromises at Renna. The only way Bayard comes out of this with even a portion of what he wants is to honor his agreement with Osriel. You must persuade him. My master will not be denied this day.”

Max leaned forward—all business—worried and angry. “You lied to me about Fortress Torvo. Used me. And yes, it seems you left me clean of blame. But it left my master chary of Osriel’s schemes and me chary of persuading him to trust the Bastard. Why should I believe you now?”

“Have you touched earth since you crossed the bridge, Max? Have you allowed yourself to feel what haunts Evanore?” Even lacking Danae blood, Cartamandua talents should detect the sickness lurking in the veins of Dashon Ra.

“Osriel’s wards.” His voice dismissed the fears he named, but his pureblood mask could not hide those written on his face and in his eyes. He had felt the anger of the dead.

“Exactly so. Whatever you perceive, it is only the beginning for those who challenge Renna. Do your master and his men march on Osriel, they will curse the day they were born, and they will curse the day they died here. Do you understand me?”

“I’ll think on it.” He averted his eyes, shuttering fear behind perfect pureblood indifference.

Such feeble assurance did nothing for my confidence. Too many pieces of the day’s puzzle remained tenuous. “I’ll tell you a secret—you, Max, not your master. Perhaps if you understand why I could trust no one in Palinur, you’ll give credence to my word today.”

“Perhaps.”

I prayed that I revealed only what no longer held importance. “Sila held three prisoners on the day I came to you. My master was one of them. Does that justify my deception?”

Dismissive laughter burbled from inside him and made it so far as his throat. But then his eyes met mine, and laughter died. “By the night lords…the sickly secretary.”

His gaze traveled my length as I climbed back onto the road. “Believe, Max. You must find some way to persuade your master to hold back. If not, then in the name of heaven, look to your own soul and ride away.”

I prayed my vanishing trick would leave him convinced.

The sun had traveled much too far from its fiery birth by the time I returned to Renna’s well yard and shifted back to Gillarine. That such a journey should by rights have taken me three days did naught for my growing fever. I needed to be at the Well. I would spare only a few moments to learn if Victor and Jullian had discovered word of the Plain.

Once sure the abbey hosted no unexpected visitors, I hurried to the lighthouse door and invoked the trigger word archangel. The lighthouse door burst open. Jullian must have been sitting on the other side.

“We’ve found it!” The boy bounded down the stair ahead of me.

Brother Victor sat at a worktable half buried in books and scrolls. “Iero’s grace, Valen!” he said. “Read him the passage, lad. I’m determined to find him a map.”