Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (18 page)

“I'll, ah...go and get dinner ready,” she said, her voice soft and strangely frightened. “I...” Her mouth opened and closed with indecision for a moment, and then she turned abruptly and left.

They spent the night in one of the huts and ate a sparse meal of dried meat, stale bread, and wild berries. Too big to stay in the house with them, Grim slept outside. For a long time they sat and stared into the fire, neither of them speaking. Clare kept darting looks his way as though she wanted to speak but was afraid to say anything.

Will, too, wanted to speak, but the heavy weight that had settled over both of them was suffocating. He found solace in the fire, though, and each time he stared into its depths he felt a sense of peace settle over him. The flames danced and crackled, filling the hut with an orange glow that soothed Will's soul. He had tied the wood flute around his neck, and as he gazed into the embers he would occasionally touch it lightly with the tips of his fingers.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” he said softly, finally breaking the silence and indicating the fire with his chin. He looked over at Clare, who nodded with an expression of utter relief. They had said nothing for many tolls of the bell, but with those words the icy mood that had settled over them melted instantly.

“I love fire,” she murmured. “Always have. I used to sit and watch Father's forge for
many tolls of the bell
.” A smile ghosted across her lips. “There's something...soothing about it, isn't there?”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

They were quiet again for a time, though this quiet was a warm one. Will was simply glad to have Clare there with him; conversation was an added bonus.

“Your weapons are Hammersong-forged, aren't they?” Clare asked. There was something in her face...was it longing?

“They are,” Will said. “I'm sorry, I never thanked you for bringing them back. I love those things. I
wouldn't part with them for the world.”

Her eyes grew distant and she gave the fire a sad smile. “I think he would have been very pleased to know that.”

Will gave her a questioning look. “What?”

“Brendric Hammersong is dead,” she said quietly. “He was in Dahoto.”

Will gaped in disbelief. “Dead,” he said flatly. “
The
Brendric Hammersong.” Clare nodded. “Did...did you know him?”

“Yes,” Clare said, and something in her voice made Will fall silent.

“I'm glad I met you,” he said abruptly after the silence had grown uncomfortable. “I...thank you for helping me.”

She smiled at him, the sadness vanishing from her face like smoke in the wind. “I am too.” The firelight danced in her eyes, picking out the golden flecks like tiny stars, and Will found himself entranced by her beauty once again.

Without warning Will felt that
other
presence awaken within him. It was different this time, though; before, when he had fought the yaru, it had been rage—the Other's rage—that drove him forward. Now he simply felt...satisfied. Content. It was as though he were sharing his body with a second spirit, but one that was joyful rather than vengeful. But no, that wasn't right—because it was
his
spirit that he was feeling. The Other
was
him, but it was something new, something previously undiscovered. It was as though a piece of his consciousness had until that moment lain dormant, and suddenly it had awakened. It felt like his soul was singing.

He looked back to the fire, and the song stopped abruptly, the feeling leaving him as quickly as it had come. He frowned.

“Something wrong?” Clare asked softly.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I just...” he trailed off, perplexed.

“What?”

“I don't know.” He frowned again, suddenly feeling awkward. “Sorry.”

She gave him a funny look but said nothing.

“If you want,” he said after a moment, “I can sleep in a different hut. You know—so you can have some privacy.”

She laughed in response. “Only if you want to. I've slept in view of you for over a week. I'm not uncomfortable. Though...” she tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment, “I don't know—should I be afraid? Grim's outside now, and I've no one to protect me.” She gave him a sidelong glance and a half-smile.

Will put his hand to his chest and looked at her with mock sincerity. “Why, I never!” he cried. “To think that I would ever
dream
of endangering you.” He shook his head and covered his mouth with the other hand. “It tugs at my heartstrings.”

Clare chuckled. “Alright, sir, you've made your case. But there's just one rule.” She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hard stare.

“Which is...?”

“I get the bed.”

It felt good to laugh. For the moment, Clare was giving Will the gift of forgetting, and he was happy. He only hoped he was doing the same for her.

~

Unbeknownst to the two travelers, something else was following them. She was an old thing, a spirit from an age long gone and forgotten. Unfathomable power radiated from her, but she had taken a form so unassuming that the eyes of humanity, blinded by ignorance, would never have been able to guess at the truth.

For over seven hundred years she had worn the shape of a desert woman, and after spending much of her life in seclusion she had at last come out into the world once again. The scent she was following now was Will's, though it was a weak one and the entity had to rely as much on guesswork as anything else to stay on his trail. She had been too late to reach him at the village, and again when she had stumbled upon the remains of his campsite, and these failures frustrated her. It should not have been so difficult to find him. Now, as she walked through the carnage in the forest, a multitude of thoughts and emotions coursed through her ancient mind.

Will's presence was strong there; he had stayed in the forest for at least a week, that much was certain, but there was something else as well—something she could not quite put her finger on. There was a scent on the wind, so faint that she would never have known it was there had she not seen the night's events, and it reminded her of...something. She could not put her finger on it, but it smelled oddly familiar. It had to be from Will's mysterious companion, whoever that might be.

The spirit stood at the center of Will's last stand, silent and unmoving as though waiting for something. The slain yaru had long since been carried off by the rest of their brood, leaving behind only a sickening palette of dried blood that stained the ground and trees black. Should the humans looking for Will ever stumble upon the place, they would find no evidence of the yaru. She closed her eyes after a moment. “Where are you?” she whispered, and even deep in the forest the wind picked up ever so slightly at the sound of her voice, fluttering the edges of her hooded cloak and exposing for a brief moment her fine-boned features.

She had felt him months ago, a surge of power in the south so great that it had taken the breath from her lungs. She knew that power, knew it like the back of her own hand, and its resurgence after such a long hibernation had sent her into a frenzy of action.

Her masquerade as a storyteller had told her everything she needed to know: there was no mistaking that Will was the one she sought. But there had been something else about him, something different that did not mesh with her memories, and it had left her disheartened and confused. Indecision had cost her the chance to secure Will the first time, and now she was paying the price for her hesitation.

But she did not have time to waste; she put her fingers to her lips and let forth a shrill whistle that was answered from far off by a hawk-like scream. The wind picked up for a moment, whipping the trees into a frenzy and sending a flurry of leaves to swirl around her. When the maelstrom dissipated a short time later, the woman was nowhere in sight.

~

And far away, at another outlying village, stood a second ancient power. This one, though, was a fount of fear and hatred, and dark energy seemed to radiate from the small body it clothed itself in. It wore the shape of a young boy, and it watched without emotion as its horde of yaru slaughtered the people of yet another village. It, too, was looking for Will, but its reasons were vastly different. The man had escaped from him once, and the young boy was determined that he would not do so again.

At the thought of Will the boy's hand went absently to its chest, lightly brushing the tip of a fresh scar. The other wound Will had given it had long since healed and faded away, but not this one. It burned still, deep in the thing's chest, like a smoldering coal that refused to die. The boy's lip curled into a snarl, but it was one of fear. It had not expected Will to live. It would have to act quickly, before it was too late.

Like the desert woman, though, the boy-thing had lost Will's scent once the human woman and her pet dog had entered the picture. Time and time again the lone warrior had found the yaru, always managing to remain hidden despite all reason and logic. Now it seemed her powers of concealment had extended to Will as well. But the boy-thing pushed such thoughts from its mind. They did not matter. The wounds it had inflicted upon Will were very grave, and it was confident that he and the woman would seek assistance at some town or another. The only question now was which one.

But then another thought wormed its way through the boy-thing's mind—the desert woman. If she
had returned, the boy knew the rest were soon to follow. That would indeed be problematic. But if it could kill the woman before she was aware of its presence...

Its thoughts turned once more to the man named Will, and its eyes narrowed. “Finish this,” it hissed, and what few villagers remained alive were butchered like cattle in a grisly torrent of blood and screams. A thought occurred to it then: to the southeast lay the city of Prado—the very city it had first seen Willyem Blackmane in. The city where a large force of his comrades continued to dwell. If the man had any sense at all, he would head immediately for Prado.

Its dark eyes flashed crimson for the briefest instant. Yes, it had more than enough yaru bound to its will. To destroy the city would be an easy task, and with both Will and the desert woman sure to be there...

It concentrated for a moment, and the yaru turned as one to gaze at their child leader. Then they turned and began to crawl away, back to the sweltering plains and the shining city at their center.

~

By midday the next day Will could see Prado in the distance, its tall buildings gleaming in the sunlight through a wavering haze of heat. He stood with Clare at the top of a short rise beneath a large oak, its thick leaves providing them with nearly unbroken shade—a welcome retreat from the sweltering sun. Grim was sprawled on the ground at their feet, panting miserably, and he kept darting covert glances in Clare's direction that managed to be both pitiful and accusatory. The Southland heat was lessened only slightly by the shade, and Will had decided with finality a short while ago that he hated the area.

“Ugh,” he grumbled. “I forgot how damned hot it gets here.” He adjusted his grip on the walking stick and shifted his weight off of his mending leg.

“I didn't think it would be this miserable,” Clare said. Sweat had matted her hair down against her head, and she had rolled her shirtsleeves up to her elbows. “I don't think I'll be making a return trip anytime soon.”

“We had to fight in this, you know.” Will gestured expansively at the surrounding area—leagues of scorched earth with small groves of oak interspersed throughout. The short, scattered clumps of brown grass that clung tenaciously to life seemed just as miserable as the three travelers. “Try sneaking up on somebody in
that
kind of terrain. And the heat—death and damnation, even at night it's the temperature of the sun. Inside the city it's even worse.” He looked down at Grim and indicated the hound. “Is he going to be alright?”

Clare shrugged. “I don't think the Dahotan military has had a warhound die from exposure yet. They've taken them all the way up to the Northern Sea and as far east as the Kahara Desert.”

“The Kahara,” Will panted. “Now
there's
a nasty place. You think it's bad here?” He shook his head. “Why anybody would want to live there is beyond me. Crazy Eastlanders.”

Grim whined pitifully then, and flopped over on his side as though dead. “Well?” Will said with some reluctance. “Shall we?” Clare nodded and they started off.

The sun beat down on them relentlessly, scorching their already burnt skin and creating watery illusions on the ground in front of them. They trudged through the heat with hoods drawn in a fruitless attempt to allay some of the sun's fury. Grim plodded along beside them, his tongue hanging limply from his long-muzzled mouth.

They met nobody else on the road to Prado, and when they finally reached the city gate the guards sitting beneath the shade of the archway seemed bored and half-asleep. One of them started when they drew near, though, and stumbled out to meet them with his hand resting unsubtly on the hilt of his sword. “What business do you have here?” he called when they were a short distance away.

“I am Willyem Blackmane of the Raven Knights,” Will called back. “I left almost two weeks ago to stop a bandit raid in one of your outlying villages, and now I'm back.” He accompanied the speech with
a little flourish and a mocking bow, his annoyance at being made to stop in the heat getting the better of him.