Path of Honor (43 page)

“Saljane!”

The connection ended abruptly as if it had never been. Reisil’s head tipped back, and she wailed, an inarticulate, desperate sound.

Reisil spun, fixing on the speaker, renewed fury fueling the magic that began to scorch.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“We are . . . emissaries. We want you to accompany us.”

“From who? Where?” Her lips felt papery and tight, cracking with her words. Flames streaked along her skin. When she spoke, sparks fluttered from her tongue.

“From the wizards in exile. Our home lies in the Aavrel Mountains.” The speaker’s voice was urgent. “Once we are there, your bird shall be released to you,
unharmed
. An attack on any one of us will result in her death.”

Reisil’s body shook. She could smell burning hair. Her skin felt raw and too small. Her bones were fire. Her hands curled into claws.

“Hurt her, and I will kill you all,” she whispered at last.

“Yes. I know.”

The magic within burned for escape. Reisil had held it in check for too long. She could not merely disperse it. She didn’t know how. She didn’t want to, even if she could.

“Let me remind you.”

She turned from her captors and flung the power at a tree-covered knoll two hundred paces away. The hill exploded, the trees bursting apart and sending pieces of burning wood and leaves in every direction. A hail of dirt and tree debris rained down on Reisil and her wizard captors. A sharp pain erupted beneath her right eye, and a trickle of blood rolled down her cheek. She blinked, her eyes gritty and parched. Slowly the redness cleared from her vision. She swung back around, searching for Saljane. She found her cradled in the arms of a gray stranger; the goshawk’s legs were bound together, her body swaddled in a woven black material. Reisil made a howling sound and reached out, fury crackling up again.

“She is in no discomfort. Be at ease.”

Reisil’s chin jerked around, and she considered the speaker. Then she paced forward in slow, deliberate steps, coming to stand toe to toe with him, her head reaching to his chin. She tipped it back, locking his gaze. The glow from the ivy on her cheek reflected in his eyes and illuminated his craggy features.

“You hold a knife to my throat. I am in your trap and at your mercy. I will cooperate. But
do not
suppose me at ease. And guard Saljane as you would your own life. Because you may believe this to the bottom of your muddy soul.” Reisil pressed closer, rising on tiptoe. “If anything happens to Saljane, you and yours will not survive it by more than the blink of an eye.”

With that she stepped away, glancing narrowly at each of her seven captors. All seven men wore gray clothing beneath gray cloaks. Memory clicked. The assassins.

She approached the one holding Saljane. He backed away a step.

“I want to speak to her.”

“She will not hear.” Reisil held her ground, and the speaker nodded to the other. “Do not interfere with her bonds,” he warned Reisil.

She examined the black bundle, suppressing an urge to snatch the trussed bird from his arms. She had little doubt that the bonds on Saljane were more magical than physical. Trying to rescue Saljane would be more likely to get her
ahalad-kaaslane
killed.

“Saljane, I am well. You must be patient. These
ganyiks
hold you hostage for my cooperation. We will go with them to their stronghold, and they will release you.”

She paused, hoping for some sort of response, but the goshawk didn’t move. Reisil gritted her teeth, chin trembling, fire spiraling up through her stomach. She dampened the magic and spun away. She returned to her saddle and grabbed her water bag. She drained it in several long swallows, grateful for the cool moisture on her parched tongue. Reisil reached for her saddle.

“We ride now.”

“As you wish.” The speaker motioned, and one of the gray figures melted away, returning in moments with a white-eyed Indigo.

Reisil saddled the horse, brushing away the dirt and splinters that covered him. She wiped out his eyes and stroked his head and shoulders. “Saljane needs your strength,” she murmured. “We’re going to ride far and fast with little rest. But it is the only way.”

Indigo rubbed his head against her shoulder, nickering. Reisil swung into her saddle. The wizards said nothing, collecting around Reisil like a school of gray fish. The speaker led them out at a quick pace, evidently no less eager than Reisil to return to his home.

Behind her, where the tree-covered knoll had been, there was now a long furrow, as if the knoll had been entirely scraped away to reveal a hole large enough to hold one of Koduteel’s great houses. The walls of the ravine were glassy and smooth, as if a great fire had burned there, hot enough to melt the dirt itself. Surrounding the great scar for half a league was a moat of dirt, splintered wood and shredded leaves spread inches deep over the grass.

 

The ride across the farmlands and into the mountains took four days. They stopped only to sleep or fill their water bags, eating cold rations on horseback. Reisil was disconcerted at first when the entire group would wait on her while relieving herself. But though she set the pace and ordered the stops, she was their prisoner. She rarely spoke to them, riding near the wizard who was carrying Saljane and periodically calling encouragement to the trussed bird, ignoring contemptuous looks from her captors.

On the fourth night as they came to a mountain stream, the speaker, whose name she had never learned and who was the only one who spoke to her, called a halt over her objections. “The way is difficult. The horses do not see in the dark as we do. We must not take chances,” he explained. “We’ll begin again in the morning.”

 

It was the first hot meal she’d eaten since leaving Koduteel and Reisil was grateful for the rich venison stew and flatbread. After dinner, the travelers sat in silence around the fire, Reisil’s eyes fixed on Saljane. They had told her Saljane needed no food or water, that her bonds put her into a kind of sleep.

“Why did you change your mind about killing me?”

For a few moments the speaker was silent. The other wizards stirred restlessly. “It was never our intent to kill you.”

“Except that you tried twice.”

“You are mistaken.”

“I have a hole from an arrow in my cloak that says otherwise. And then there’s the poisoned crossbolt one of you left behind.”

The speaker sighed, and Reisil quirked a brow at him. It was the first indication of emotion she’d seen from him since their first meeting. “It was thought you should be incapacitated until we could render you harmless. We should have healed any wounds.”

“That poison on the crossbolt would have killed me before you could cure me.”

He met her accusing stare, his gray eyes unabashed. “After your vigorous response to our first attempt, one of our more excitable members took it upon himself to exact revenge. It was not sanctioned.”

“Is that so?” Reisil said, glancing around at the stone-faced wizards. “What did you do to him?”

“Do? I rebuked him.”

Reisil frowned, giving a slow nod, realizing she was sitting in the company of a man who wanted to murder her. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, even though in the last four days she’d become used to being a captive rather than a target of violence. She shivered. “I see.”

“Do you? I wonder. However, it is not for me to explain. Good night.”

And with that he left her to roll into her cloak. She thought she’d lie awake waiting for the dagger in the dark, but the four days of hard riding and short rest had taken their toll, and she fell heavily asleep. Besides, if he wanted her dead, she couldn’t stay awake forever. And who knew what awaited her in the wizards’ stronghold?

 

The mountains rose in steep, gray folds, ridge after ridge, disappearing into the clouds. The trail wound sharply upward through a heavy mist, the leaf meal dampening the sounds of the horses’ hooves. Trees rose like specters around them, the forest thickening as they climbed. Soon the mist turned to chill rain, and Reisil was glad for the sheepskin lining of her green cloak.

For the first time in days she thought about her friends in Koduteel. Her cheeks flushed guiltily. How did they fare? She sent a prayer winging to the Lady that they were all right. The fact that she hadn’t yet heard from Baku worried her. He’d clung to her so tightly and for so long. And her use of magic surely would have made him curious. But the idea of calling him curdled her stomach. As if he could replace Saljane. Her hands clamped around her reins. How she wanted to loose her magic on the wizards and take Saljane back! But she trusted the speaker’s threat. She could take no chances on Saljane’s life. And her kidnappers
were
taking her exactly where she wanted to go, after all. It was almost lucky.

But she felt Saljane’s separation as if they’d lopped off her leg. It hurt in ways that were too deep for words. All that kept her moving was the hope that Saljane was not really dead, whatever her mind told her. And if they had hurt Saljane, if they lied, then Reisil would avenge her
ahalad-kaaslane
. She thought of the three attackers on the greensward outside of Koduteel, their bodies turned to ash. She thought of the wizards in Patverseme, their bodies nothing but burnt husks, the air smelling of scorched hair and flesh. Her mouth tightened as cold brutality hardened inside her. She’d spared many wizards that night. But if they’d murdered Saljane, she’d have no mercy, no—

~Where are you?
Baku demanded suddenly, bulling into her mind and scattering her thoughts like chaff.

~Near the wizards’ stronghold,
Reisil replied, the walls in her mind snapping automatically into place for the first time since he’d come to Koduteel. She ignored Baku’s recoil.

He rammed back at her with a torrent of black wrath and resentment. It slammed against her walls with no effect. Reisil felt his surprise, his confusion. But she had no room for sympathy. All she had was swelling emptiness and a chill that frosted her soul. She had nothing for Baku. He wasn’t her
ahalad-kaaslane
anyhow.

For several long minutes nothing happened. Then Baku returned again, this time tentatively.

Anger bloomed in Baku and grew, expanding and spreading, ravenous and hot. It washed over Reisil, wrapped her in a conflagration. And for the first time she felt the brittle cold within her thaw slightly with her surprise. Baku loved Saljane, thirsted for the same retribution Reisil longed for.

~They say they will release her when we arrive. If they do not . . . they will answer to me. They have been hunting me. I mistook them for assassins, but they claim they are not.
Except one. The one who wanted revenge. She could understand that.

She felt Baku’s reluctance to let their connection go, but she allowed him no foothold. He slipped away as if he’d never been, and the emptiness swelled up again inside her. She hunched forward in her saddle, paralyzed with the pain of it.

 

Three days later the small group rode through a notch and down a steep defile into a narrow, winding canyon. Snow blanketed the ground inside the tree line, giving way as they reached the floor of the canyon. At various intervals, they stopped while the speaker spoke a few words and worked his fingers in the air. Shapes like nonsensical words glowed for a moment and then disappeared. Reisil’s mouth went dry. Her hands tightened on the reins, shaking.
Soon,
she told herself. Soon she’d have Saljane back.

The canyon walls rose sharply, scrub clinging in cracks and fissures. The far end was completely walled off, a mountain sitting squarely across it. Set to one side was a small, arched portal covered by a simple door. Reisil frowned at it.

“Come. The horses remain here.”

Reisil glanced down and found the speaker standing at her right knee. She dismounted. The horses were led away, disappearing down a shadowy walkway lined by gnarled trees. Reisil was left alone with the speaker and the wizard carrying Saljane. She followed them to the door, her gait awkward. Her ankles ached and her joints seemed to grate together. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and there was a hollow feeling in her stomach.

The speaker stopped, waiting for her. “You must enter here.”

Reisil flicked a glance at Saljane’s too-still form wrapped in the black cloth, and then reached for the latch, shoving hard. The door swung wide and thumped against the wall. She strode inside, and the other two men followed.

Reisil recognized the space for what it was immediately. A testing room, used to discover if a person had wizard-sight, and therefore was a wizard. In this case, a proving room. No one who wasn’t a wizard could enter the stronghold. Except her.

There were walls set at odd angles and in zigzags. In nooks and corners were traps—pits of chittering insects, blocks of stone that slid back and forth to crush a careless body, pools of boiling chemicals, and glistening spikes protruding from the walls. To anyone without wizard-sight, it would be dark as pitch. A blundered step meant instant death. Reisil smiled.

“Do keep up, won’t you?” she called over her shoulder.

And then she plunged ahead, making her way swiftly through the maze. There appeared to be no ceiling, and a fresh breeze picked at her hair and cloak, carrying on its back the scent of evergreens and cedar smoke. She wasn’t inside a mountain at all, Reisil realized. It was illusion. She hurried faster. The sooner she made it through the maze, the sooner Saljane would be restored to her. Her shoulder ached for the goshawk’s weight, her cheek for Saljane’s affectionate caress.