The Lost Heiress #2 (23 page)

Carys’s yell stopped them all.

Slowly the Watchman turned, crossbow ready.

She was just below him, feet braced, bolt aimed.

“Let her go!” she yelled.

In the moonlight they saw the big man’s smile. “You should come with me, Carys. We can share the profits.”

“I’d rather kill you,” she snarled.

He shook his head, the drops of water falling like silver slashes. “That’s better. For a while I thought they’d made a keeper of you. But revenge, that’s a Watchman’s act.”

“Yes,” she yelled. The bow didn’t waver. “Yes, it is. And this isn’t about Emperors or their heirs. This is about me. I don’t know who I am, Braylwin. I’ll probably never know. All I’ve learned is hunting and lying, that’s all you and your Watchlords want from me, that and never asking any questions. But I don’t believe it anymore. I’ve finished with them and you and your lies, because every time I look at that girl I see myself, and all the things you’ve done to me.”

He laughed, one hand tight on the bow. “Poor, dear Carys. It’s hardly my fault.”

“And not just me. All the others too.”

“The whole world, Carys! For the whole world is the Watch now. You’ll never get away from it. It’s even in you. Deep in you. And it always will be!” He twisted suddenly, grabbed Felnia and thrust her in front of him. Carys didn’t move.

“Don’t,” Galen said softly, just behind her. “He’s not worth your soul.”

She flicked a glance at him, amused. “Always trying, Galen. I’ll give you that.”

A rock shifted, crashed down. Instantly the little girl screeched and bit; he jerked her away and dropped the crossbow and she jumped, ledge to ledge, like a cat.

The bow clattered endlessly down, then splashed.

Braylwin was alone.

He drew himself up, held his arms wide. “Well, Carys,” he roared over the falls. “I’m ready now!”

Carys was still.

“You haven’t gone soft on me, have you, sweetie? You know what to do. You have to kill me now, Carys. Or you’re finished with the Watch.”

“No!” Galen said. “Carys, listen to me . . .”

“And you want to, don’t you!” Braylwin folded his arms. “Remember your training. Fast and firm. Do it now, girl.”

“Carys. For Flain’s sake . . .”

“Shut up, Galen.” Her face was wet. She didn’t even look down.

“It’s not the way!”

“Of course it is,” she snarled.

Then she fired.

Book of the Seven Moons

M
Y RANSOM!” Alberic’s howl rang over the waterfall. “God rot you, girl, my ransom!”

Galen leaped fiercely up the cliff; he grabbed the Interrex and swung her down into Godric’s grip. Then he stared up.

“You’ll have your ransom, thief-lord.”

Braylwin was standing stock-still, his face white. The bolt had split the rock inches from his left eye. He reached up and touched it, unbelieving. When he spoke his voice was only a whisper in the water crash. “So we’ve lost you, Carys. We’ve lost you.”

She stood silent, looking up at him. Then she turned and climbed down, past Raffi, into the wood.

It took some time to get Braylwin down and back over the river, Alberic fussing and moaning the whole time, cursing Galen and the clumsy bearers. In the end, Godric had to carry the dwarf back, and all the way the thief-girl, Sikka, mocked him about how much care he was beginning to take of his enemies.

Raffi was shocked, as if some bolt had gone through him too. He had sensed nothing as Carys had passed him; worse than nothing. An emptiness, black and deep and cold. Stumbling on the path, he shuddered. Had she meant to miss? he thought. Or to kill?

All evening, in the hasty camp they made under the rocks, he waited for her to come back. Completely unworried, Felnia had taken Cub back from him and gone to sit by the Sekoi; it had told her intricate rambling stories until she slept and now it lay, long legs stretched out next to the fire, brooding on the pain in its head. Galen was nowhere to be seen, and Alberic was yelling at the grumbling, half-drunken man he called his “surgeon.”

Raffi moved uneasily. When he looked up, the Sekoi was watching him, its yellow eyes narrowed to slits.

“Why don’t you go and look for her?” it said quietly.

He shrugged. “Do you think I should?”

“I do, small keeper.” The Sekoi chewed a nail thoughtfully. “Someone should. It would be best if it were you.”

Abruptly Raffi stood up. He went straight past the sentries and walked back along the river trail, moving quietly in the dark till the noise and stir of the camp were distant.

The forest rustled. Far off, the great falls roared. Sending out sense-lines he touched sleeping trees, their deep consciousness stirring; startled the tiny minds of voles and shrews; woke a weasel that curled back up into weariness.

Then he winced. Something else was there, so sharp it stung him like a black bee. He pushed off the path, through a thick stand of larch trees, forcing his way through the dusty, matted branches until he stumbled into a clearing, brushing needles from his hair.

Carys was sitting on a rock in the moonlight.

She had her back to him, and she made no sound, but he knew she had been crying bitterly; he could feel that, a raw urgency of grief and fury that made his palms sweat.

He stood, awkward.

After a while she raised her head. “Well?”

“Felnia’s all right.”

“I know that!” She turned, furious, her eyes red and sore.

He nodded. “So is he. You could have killed him, but you didn’t.”

“I wanted to!” She pushed her hair back; her face was taut and white. “I really wanted to, Raffi. My mind was empty, except for hating him.”

“It’s all right . . .”

“Don’t be stupid!” Ripples of agitation slammed against him. “Of course it’s not all right! I wanted him dead. And Galen knows I did. I’m finished now, with the Watch and with you.” She laughed bitterly. “How did I get to this, Raffi? I thought I had everything under control.”

Quietly he came forward. Standing opposite her he said, “Come with us to Sarres.”

“Why? To be punished for my sins?”

“No. To be healed.”

Amazed, she stared at him. “What?”

He chewed the ties of his jacket nervously. “You’ve been hurt, Carys. You may not know it, but I can feel it. It’s like a big emptiness in you. We can help . . . the Order has ways . . .”

“To forgive me?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

She stood up quickly, brushing her hair back. “You’re soft, Raffi, that’s your trouble. You’d never survive without Galen. He won’t want me along. He probably despises me.”

But something had changed in her. Raffi smiled. “You don’t know him.”

“I know he’s hard as nails.”

“He’s a Relic Master. And it says in the Book that love is as fierce as hatred—as strong, and as reckless.”

She looked at him strangely. “Does it? Perhaps that’s why they never let us read all of it.”

She pushed past him through the larches. He trailed behind, catching the branches that swung back into his face.

At the campfire Galen was talking to the Sekoi, but when he saw them coming the keeper stood, tall and grim, his hawk-face half hidden in the shadows.

Carys walked right up to him and flung the crossbow down.

“You were right. It’s not the way.”

His silence forced her to look up. “All right, Galen,” she breathed. “I missed him. I meant to. But . . .” Hopeless, she shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t feel sorry,” he said. “You feel angry. And free.”

“I don’t suppose you care what I feel.”

He laughed then, his rare harsh laugh. “The Order welcomes anyone, Carys. We have no failures either.”

She smiled. “Even Watchspies?”

“Especially those.”

The Sekoi went to say something, but then waggled its long fingers and was silent.

Carys sat down. The fire glow made her look red and tired. “I would have killed him once,” she said. “Before I knew you, I probably wouldn’t have thought twice. Now it’s all more difficult.” She looked up firmly. “Look, I’ll give you all the information you want. Everything. Numbers, passwords, details of patrols . . .”

“Carys.” The keeper crouched, his eyes dark in the flame light. “We don’t want information. We want you. Will you come to Sarres?”

“Where is that?”

“Beyond your world. The place where the Order will begin again. The heart of the web, where we’ll wait for the Makers. Will you come? We want you to come.”

She looked at him a long time, then away into the flames. “I’ll come. After all, where else can I go?”

Then, quickly, she reached into the pouch at her waist and brought out the relic, thrusting it into his hands. “You’d better have this. I stole it from the Tower of Song. I think it’s important.”

He stared at it in surprise, then at Raffi. “Was this what you used for the net?”

“Yes.”

Galen clicked his tongue in annoyance. “It’ll have little power left, if any.” He spread his fingers over it. “It feels faint.”

“So do I, sorcerer.”

The voice was a snarl; Raffi jumped up nervously.

Alberic had to be helped to the fire. Sikka brought a chair for him and placed it down; the dwarf lowered himself into it as if he were an old man. His hair was thin, his face drawn with pain. His chest heaved, as if he had no breath. But he glared at Galen as furiously as ever.

“You’ve got what you want. Take the curse off.”

“And then?” Galen asked.

“Then I take my lads and lasses and clear out. Oh, and the Watchman. He’s mine. You can have her.” He pointed a tiny finger at Carys. “She won’t fetch you much.”

“On the contrary.” Galen turned the relic over. “She already has.”

The dwarf eyed it without interest. “You people and your bits of junk. Well?”

Galen sat still, the moonlight falling on him. “The curse has been on you a long time,” he said softly. “How can I take if off?”

Alberic went rigid. “By Flain, you’d better!” he raged. “Or you’ll never leave this wood.”

Galen grinned. “You mistake me.” He stood up suddenly and leaned forward. “You’ve read the Book, you told me once?”

“The Litany.” Alberic waved his fingers painfully. “Rather obscure style, I thought.”

“So you know about the Crow?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Now you can see it.”

Galen tossed the relic to Raffi; sparks were leaping from it. As he stood there, he seemed strangely taller; the darkness closed in around him. He reached over, caught Alberic’s hand, and pulled him upright. The dwarf stared, astonished, and as Galen looked down at him a sudden shiver of energy moved through their linked fingers, and in an instant of breathtaking clearness everyone saw it, the sharpness of the black eyes, the power that looked out of them, the abrupt shift that made the dark figure something else, something charged, out of myth, out of legend.

Alberic swore, snatching his hand away. Behind him his people stared.

Galen grinned.

“God, keeper,” the dwarf breathed. “What are you?”

“I’m the Crow.” He said it quietly, and the ghost images of seven moons drifted between his fingers. “See it and believe it, thief-lord, because apart from these, you’re the first. Things are changing. The Interrex is found, Anara will have a leader again. And the Order has a home; we’ll make it such a powerhouse it will re-energize the world. Above all, I’ve spoken with the Makers. The Makers are coming back, Alberic.”

The dwarf swallowed. He stood up straight now, breathed easy. “Crackpot fanatics,” he muttered. “I almost believe it.”

“You should. Because I haven’t finished with you.”

“Oh no!” Alberic jumped back. “Oh no. I came looking for you once, but never again! I’ve had my fill of sorcerers. From now on I’ll avoid you like fireseed, Galen Harn.”

Galen nodded darkly. “That’s what you think.”

He turned, took the relic from Raffi, and held it in both hands. It spat and crackled. Suddenly it hummed, and the dwarf stepped closer greedily.

Raffi stood up. To his amazement he saw the tiny screen had lit, and words were racing across it, minute white Maker-words that Galen hurriedly began to read aloud.