[Hurog 01] - Dragon Bones Page 13

  “Why do you care so much?” he asked suddenly. “What do the events here matter to you?”

  She changed suddenly, as he’d seen her do only once before. A human seemingly rose out of the bulk of her animal body. Her skin was dappled as her pelt had been; otherwise, she could have been any other naked woman he’d ever seen. Even her eyes had changed to a warm amber. It surprised him again how young she looked. If she’d been human, he’d have said that she was less than twenty.

  The Tamerlain stepped forward and touched his cheek. “The time is coming, Garranon of Buril. It has been dark for a very long time, not just here, but among the other creatures of magic. The dwarves have huddled down in their reaches, but disease and disharmony are rife among them. Something tainted the magic of the land long ago. Now the land may be saved.”

  “Defeating the Vorsag will change the taint?” he asked. She’d spoken often of tainted magic but never so specifically.

  She smiled. “I don’t know, but it might. The future is hard to divine, even for Aethervon.”

  “Aethervon?” Garranon looked at her in surprise.

  “Just because Menogue lies in ruin does not mean that Aethervon forgets his promises.” The Tamerlain lowered her eyes, looking more cat than bear. “In return for giving his followers Menogue, Aethervon promised the high king to look after his kingdom.” Her eyes went unfocused briefly as she sniffed the air. “He is coming.” She took up her more usual shape again and gave him her usual words of parting. “Fare thee well, child.”

  Uncertain what he should do with what she told him, Garranon sat on the rail she’d occupied and brushed at a chipped area with his thumb.

  “Garranon,” said Jakoven. “I remember you sitting there just so when you first came to me. What makes you so sad?”

  Garranon sat upright, though the king’s hand encouraged him to lean back against Jakoven’s shoulder. Enough lies, he thought. They wouldn’t work anyway. “Oranstone, my liege.”

  His answer displeased Jakoven; the hand on his shoulder tightened. “Your father abandoned you to fight for Oranstone’s freedom. Abandoned you so there was no one to defend you when the soldiers came, killed your sister in front of your eyes. And they raped you and your brother, didn’t they? If your father had followed his oaths, he would have been there to save you.”

  From you, thought Garranon with sudden violence. For a moment he was terrified he had said the words aloud. But the king’s hold softened.

  “You were so hurt when you came to me,” Jakoven murmured. “So small and terrified. It hurt me to see you, to see the fear in your face. So I made it better,” he nuzzled Garranon’s neck.

  Not fooled by the loverlike tones, Garranon knew the reminder of what had happened had been deliberate. Especially the reminder of his brother’s fate. But his brother was in Oranstone, safe from Jakoven. Perhaps, he thought while his body responded to the king’s caresses, perhaps he would join Haverness. It would be good to see his wife and lands again.

  7

  Wardwick

  Aethervon has always been a curious problem for devout Tallvens. If he was really a god, why did he allow the destruction of his temple? Fortunately, most Tallvens are not given to worship anything except gold so, on the whole, they aren’t much troubled.

  “TELL ME AGAIN WHY we’re traveling so close to Estian, Ward,” said Tosten, swinging his sword my way.

  “Because the best path through the mountains is straight south,” I replied, parrying. “From what you said, Garranon has given up finding his brother’s runaway. He’ll have taken the faster road to Estian, so we won’t meet him.”

  We were doing patterns he and I had practiced since we could hold a sword. Stala encouraged talk during patterns, said that engaging the mouth demanded the body operate from reflex. I wasn’t certain of that, but I did know I didn’t have to worry about him missing a link in the pattern.

  “Think we’ll reach Estian today?” asked Tosten, increasing the speed of his strokes so I had to as well.

  “Should.” I increased my speed a little more than he had.

  “Wouldn’t traveling have been faster if we practiced less?” he said with a gasp, but he set the pace even faster.

  “Yes. But we need to be ready by the time we reach Oranstone.” I managed all that without a breath and matched his speed, too. I added, “I don’t want anyone kill—” gasp “—killed because they don’t know how to handle a sword.” To make up for the loss of breath, I quickened again. From the corner of my eye, I saw the others had stopped fighting to watch.

  “Why does Ward look faster?” I heard Bastilla ask.

  “Because he is.” Axiel’s voice carried satisfaction like a proud father’s. “He has a longer distance to move to meet Tosten’s blows. That’s why a big man is almost always slower than a small man.”

  “It always surprises me to see Ward fight,” added Oreg. “He always talks slowly—sounds almost stupid, even when he’s not trying to appear that way. Moves that way, too.”

  “No,” Axiel disagreed. “He just moves well. It usually makes him look slow, like Penrod’s gelding. Fastest horse in the bunch, but he looks as if he’s traveling half the speed of the others.” He raised his voice, “Ward, Tosten, slow down. Someone’s going to get hurt.”

  “Want to really show them?” asked Tosten, grinning. The expression took me aback. He’d never been given to a quick smile.

  “What do you have in mind?” It would have to be quick, because I couldn’t keep the pace up much longer.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Stala had us do that. We all used wooden blades and full armor so that, barring total incompetence, the worse risk was a nasty bruise. Usually, she blindfolded only one of the sparring partners and the patterns were taken at half speed.

  “You, too?” I asked.

  He closed his in answer, so I did also, and neither of us slowed the pattern. The worst thing about closing my eyes was that it always threw my balance off until I got used to it. On the other hand, it increased my focus immeasurably. The greatest sensory input came from my sword, until I almost felt like Tosten’s sword was hitting my arm instead of the silver blade. It was exhilarating, better than running down the cliffside on Feather—and about as smart.

  We kept it up until I heard a raggedness in the rhythm of metal on metal; one or both of us was tiring. “Done on three,” I whispered.

  “One,” he said as softly.

  “Two,” I replied.

  “Three,” he said.

  I jumped back out of range and opened my eyes to see that he had done the same. Dizzy with the sudden addition of sight to my heightened senses, I had to sit on the ground before I fell.

  “Idiots,” said Axiel. “That kind of horseplay will get you killed.”

  Tosten and I exchanged unrepentant grins, and I felt the old bond of brotherhood settle over us for the first time in a long while.

  Our attitude didn’t help Axiel’s temper. “I told Stala that blindfolding was stupid. It encourages the steran to do stupid stunts like that display.”

  Feeling less dizzy, I rolled back to my feet and held out my sword to Axiel, as a repentant student is supposed to do.

  He shook his head in refusal but gave me a reluctant chuckle. “I wouldn’t have missed it for all the sheep in Hurog—but don’t you tell anyone.”

  “What’s a steran?” asked Oreg, with such innocence in his voice that I looked at him sharply. He was pointing out something to me, but I didn’t know what it was.

  “Foolish young boys,” answered Axiel with such well-concealed discomfort I might not have noticed without Oreg sharpening my attention. I knew several languages, as any lord who lived in the Kingdoms had to. Steran wasn’t a word I was familiar with.

  “Fretsome old dwarf,” taunted Oreg softly.

  Axiel’s face set, but before he could say anything, Tosten jumped in, as he did at every opportunity to attack Oreg. “Poor-mannered bastard,” he said. “You need to show
respect to your elders.”

  A look of unholy glee spread across Oreg’s face.

  “Time to break camp,” Axiel said abruptly. It was the first order he’d given outside of the morning and evening exercises. It might have been to keep Oreg and Tosten from fighting, but I wondered if it was Oreg’s remark about dwarves.

  I thought about pursuing the matter but reluctantly decided to leave Axiel to his own counsel. He’d earned that much by his long years of service to my family. Besides, I never liked playing someone else’s games, not even Oreg’s. Just how unlikely was it that Axiel’s father was a dwarf? About as unlikely as Oreg being as old as Hurog. I could accept dwarven blood; it was the other part that I would choose to disbelieve. When he was really, really drunk, he claimed his father was the dwarven king.

  PANSY WAS FEELING GOOD and showed it by dancing and snorting. The warm sun felt good to me as well, and for the first time since leaving Hurog, I started to feel normal again. My broken bond with Hurog still made me feel like I was missing some vital part of myself, but it was bearable, a healed-over scar of a missing limb.

  “My lord,” said Oreg diffidently, riding to my side.

  “Yes?”

  “Where did you intend to camp tonight? We won’t reach Estian until late this afternoon.”

  “The trail we’re on meets up with the main road in a few miles. My father liked to ride into Estian in the morning. I thought we’d just camp where we always have and ride past the city tomorrow.”

  “Is it possible to camp at Menogue instead?”

  “In the interest of a scholarly visit?” asked Bastilla who was riding beside me.

  Oreg gave her a pleased smile and nodded his head.

  Bastilla had blended into my odd group much better than I had expected a beautiful woman to do. She was, I think, sleeping with both Axiel and Penrod, but managed it without friction.

  “Menogue is northeast of Estian. It’s at least five or six miles out of our way,” I said. “That means over ten miles altogether.”

  “I know,” he replied. “I’d still like to stay there overnight. You told Tosten that speed isn’t important.”

  “The ruins are haunted.” The track was wide enough here for Tosten to come up on my right. “Axiel knows all the stories. He’s scouting, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell us all about it tonight.”

  His tone was congenial. Something about this morning’s sparring had made him happier.

  “Haunted?” I put some tremolo in my voice and managed not to glance at Oreg. “I’d forgotten about that. Maybe we shouldn’t stay there after all.”

  Tosten humphed, “You needn’t fake it, Ward.” He grinned at Bastilla. I could see she’d worked her magic on him as well. “We’ve a ghost at Hurog, too. I’ve never seen it, but you should have heard my aunt—Lady Duraugh, not Stala—when it visited her.” Bastilla hadn’t met Stala, but she’d heard us all telling stories.

  “It’s easier to dismiss ghosts in the daylight,” I said. “Not so easy at night when the ruins come alive around you.”

  Penrod had ridden up to see what was going on. “Ruins?”

  “Oreg wants to stay in the haunted ruins of Menogue,” explained Bastilla.

  The old horseman grinned, “Spend the night in haunted ruins? Sounds like home.”

  • • •

  IT WAS AXIEL WHO found the path we needed to take. I would have ridden right past it. There were signs of the great road it had been, but I doubted there would be any trace in another hundred years. Rumors of hauntings and curses had kept the curious away. And to think the Tallvenish were so quick to point fingers at us Northlanders for being superstitious.

  Truthfully, had I not known what Oreg was, I would not have agreed to it. As my uncle had said, no one knew like a Northlander how bothersome real magic was. Neither Axiel nor Bastilla showed much enthusiasm. But Tosten practically brimmed over with excitement, which was what had finalized my decision. This was the most cheerful I’d seen him.

  Our path twisted between trees that hadn’t been there during Menogue’s reign but now towered over us, shadowing the path. Blackberry brambles hid the remnants of broken stone benches and statuary.

  The horses were tired after a full day of riding, and they huffed and sweated, hauling us up the steep hill. Penrod kicked his feet loose of the stirrups and slid off. Axiel ahead of him and Ciarra beside him followed suit. I laughed a bit at myself as I slid out of the saddle, because I didn’t want to walk up the hill very much, but if Penrod, who looked as fresh as he had this morning though he was at least twice my age, was walking up the hill, then so was I.

  The moment my feet hit the soil, I stopped laughing as the hair on my arms rose and gooseflesh covered my body. It wasn’t the same here as it had been at Hurog. The magic in the hill didn’t flow through me like the sea, filling the hollows in my soul, but it was definitely here. And it was curious.

  I don’t know why I thought that. I’d always been taught that magic was a force, like the wind or the sun. But at Hurog the magic welcomed me, filling me with strength and peace when I needed it—though it didn’t answer my call anymore. But whatever touched me through the soft dirt under my feet was inquisitive and . . . not that welcoming. Oreg stepped beside me and gripped my elbow, pulling me forward before the others had realized I’d stopped.

  “Yes,” he murmured quietly so the jingle of harness and clomp of hooves would cover his voice. “You feel it, don’t you? Bastilla doesn’t. How curious.”

  “It’s like Hurog,” I murmured back.

  He smiled grimly. “Yes, and no. They are both places of old power.”

  “What power?” asked Tosten, coming alongside as he frequently did when Oreg and I talked, though he seldom addressed Oreg directly.

  “Menogue,” I answered, nodding my head to the ruins that rose darkly above us.

  Tosten rubbed his arms and said, “This place makes me nervous, as if something not very friendly is watching us.”

  “Come on, hurry up,” called Bastilla, “you’re blocking the trail. If we’ve got to camp on this forsaken hill, let’s at least make camp while we’ve light to do so.”

  I glanced back and saw that Bastilla, unencumbered by pride, was still mounted. But I quickened my pace without a word. She was right.

  Walking put a stop to my inquiries for lack of breath—something I’d have felt badly about except that no one else could talk either. When the slope began to get steeper, I let my reins loose on Pansy’s back and dropped back to use his tail to help me over the rough stuff. It was an old mountaineer’s trick, and I forgot until I grabbed his tail that Pansy wasn’t used to such familiarity. But when he didn’t kick and kept following Penrod, I quit worrying and gratefully accepted his help. Glancing back, I saw Tosten had done the same, though Oreg scrambled up without apparent effort. Bastilla had dismounted at last and fallen behind. Feather, bearing a lighter burden than she was used to, hauled Ciarra past us as if she were walking on the flat.

  The crest of the hill loomed ahead like a beacon in a snowstorm. Pansy felt it, too (or maybe it was the humiliation of having Feather pass him) and increased his pace until I had to jog to keep up with him.

  Though the top of the hill was still light, trees shadowed the path, and I stumbled over the rough ground. Rather than have Pansy drag me the rest of the way up, I let go of his tail and caught a broken stone pillar that was part of the ruins.

  I woke up flat on my back with a stranger leaning over me. He wore none of the tattoos of our order, nor were his robes familiar. There was something about his face . . . he looked like a Hurog . . . I saw a dragon in the sky, fierce and frightening, deep blue scales edged in gold.

  Hurog.

  It was Tosten who leaned over me, his eyes concerned. “Are you hurt, Ward? What happened?”

  It seemed like a good question, but tingling from toes to forehead, I didn’t have an answer. I must not have been there long, because I heard Oreg and his horse approaching in
a rush.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Oreg.

  “I tripped,” I said, though it had been the pillar, not whatever I’d stepped on that laid me out. I forced a quick grin. “It just feels so good to lie here on the grass, I thought I’d stay here a while.”

  Noticing that my hand was still touching the base of the stone, I pulled it away. Blessedly, the pulsing tingle faded within a few heartbeats. Nothing hurt except my head.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I said rolling to my feet. My head bumped into Pansy’s, which did neither of us any good, and he stepped back indignantly. “Let’s get to the top.”

  I hoped the shadow hid my face, because I didn’t want anyone to see my fear. What had sounded like an adventure this morning was turning into something else, and I’d just developed a serious mistrust of whatever Oreg had in mind for this visit.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Oreg.” I said softly.

  He smiled faintly but gave no other reply.

  When I reached the top, Axiel, Penrod, and Ciarra had already unsaddled their horses and were grooming them briskly. Pansy whickered and joined the other horses, waiting for me to get his hot, itchy blanket and tack off, too.

  “Can we explore a bit and see if the monks left anything?” asked Bastilla, fastening the hobbles on her horse.

  Penrod took a good look at the sky. “We won’t have daylight for much longer.”

  Ciarra looked at me expectantly, bouncing on her toes. She’d already hobbled Feather. I knew what Ciarra wanted to do, but after my experience with the pillar on the hill, I wasn’t sure the ruins were safe.

  “Right,” I said reluctantly. “Just for tonight, no practice. Go ahead and look around. But remember, this place was dedicated to a god. Be respectful, and don’t touch anything.”