Dragon Bones h-1 Page 9

  "Enough to do what is necessary. Your father had more than one strong box. This one has been hidden since his death. Hurog is not as pitiful as he liked to pretend."

  "Ah," I said for lack of a better response, thinking of all the things a little more gold would have done for Hurog.

  "What are your plans, my lord?" asked Oreg.

  I started to speak when my thoughts, which had been lingering over my father and the substantial purse I held in my hand, gave me an idea. "My father gave me one gift that might allow me to keep Hurog: Stala's teaching. I know how to lead, to plan battles and, Siphern forbid, when to retreat. I intend to be a war hero." Like my father.

  "You have training," conceded Oreg after an unflattering length of time, "but you have no experience and no army—not to mention no war."

  I laughed shortly. "My whole life has been a battle. I have experience. If I can prove myself with a sword, it will go a long way to nullifying the king's writ. A nineteen-year-old idiot who is seldom at court is easily disposed of; a commander who has proved his worth in battle cannot be ignored. As for a war, there is fighting going on in Oranstone with Vorsagian raiders. If it's not war yet, it will be soon."

  Oreg looked at me as if I were stupid. It was something I was used to, but I didn't like it coming from him, especially when I wasn't playing dumb.

  "Commanders generally have armies," he commented. "And heroes are usually dead men. Not coincidentally, dead heroes can't conspire against kings."

  I grinned at his dry tone. "Much more convenient for all concerned, I'm sure. But I have no intention of dying. With this much money—" I patted the belt. "I can hire four or five fighting men, and I have Axiel. Enough for a start."

  "You'll have me, too," Oreg said. "I asked Axiel to bring an extra horse."

  "What?" He had his face in the shadow, so I couldn't be certain of what I'd heard. "Oranstone is halfway to hell from here."

  "I know," he said.

  I narrowed my gaze at him. "I thought you were Hurog?"

  "I am." He gave me a look that was half shy, half smug. "But this body can go with you as long as you wear that ring. I can even work magic—just not as well."

  "Can you fight?" I asked. A wizard would certainly be helpful.

  "Better than Ciarra, not as well as you."

  "Yes, well, that leaves a lot of room," I said.

  He smiled slyly.

  "Come on then, if you're going to. Let's see to the women and go meet Axiel."

  Bastilla, the former slave, and Siarra were waiting for us in the cave along with a small pile of goods. On top of the pile was my chain mail tunic. I'd grabbed my sword before leaving my room, but my hauberk had been tucked in a wardrobe. I was planning on asking Oreg to retrieve it, but he'd anticipated my need.

  "Oreg," I said sincerely, "I salute your competence."

  Ciarra helped me into the heavy garment, and it settled over my shoulders like a familiar embrace. While I adjusted belts and sheaths, I explained about the writ and Garranon.

  When I was through, Ciarra frowned at me. She tapped her forehead twice. Not so stupid, Ward, said the gesture.

  "No," I said. "Do you want to come with us?"

  She grinned delightedly, and I decided not to tell her I was going to try to find a safe place to leave her until I actually found one; each battle to its own day. My sister taken care of, I turned to the woman beside her.

  "Bastilla, I'm sorry that I wasn't able to grant you freedom here, but I'll see to it that you don't go back into slavery."

  She didn't react to what I'd said, just studied me.

  The rabbit rocks were less than a half mile from the keep because I had to carry Bastilla most of the way. She'd have preferred to walk, but she was too slow.

  Penrod and Axiel waited with eight horses behind the pale boulder that stuck up over the tops of the aspen grove surrounding them. Six of the horses were saddled, and two more bore heavy packs. Six with saddles, but there were only five of us.

  "Thought you might use an extra hand," Penrod said.

  Penrod had fought in the Guard, and he still trained under Stala every day with the rest of the stable hands. My father wanted everyone to be capable of defending Hurog. Three fighting men and a wizard weren't a large force, but it was a good start.

  Penrod continued, "My second will tell your uncle that you came to the stables with a strange woman in tow and took the best horses. When I protested, you ordered me to go along and care for them."

  "That way they won't tear down the keep looking for Bastilla," observed Oreg approvingly. He held out a hand to Penrod. "I'm Oreg, a cousin of Ward's. He's been letting me hide here while I tried to decide what to do with myself. It seems I'm going to travel with you."

  Admiring Oreg's storytelling skills, I introduced Penrod to him, and then Bastilla to Axiel and Penrod. The introductions were necessarily short.

  "We need to hurry," said Axiel. "Stala thinks that she can buy us time, but we want to get going."

  We turned our attention to getting mounted. For the first time I realized Pansy was among the saddled horses. He snorted at me and shoved his nose in my chest. He wasn't a safe mount yet, but I was pleased to see him, nonetheless. It was Feather's presence that surprised me.

  "You brought a mare with the stallion, Penrod?" I asked. Feather twitched a lazy ear in my direction as Ciarra scrambled atop her wide back. Ciarra was the only one besides me who I allowed on Feather.

  Penrod chuckled as he checked the cinch on his own muscled gelding. "He knows that saddle and bridle means work. He's traveled with mares before and knows his manners. Feather would have fretted if we left her behind. There's no one left here good enough to ride her. If we end up with a foal out of it, well enough."

  It took some sorting to get horses and people together. Oreg, for instance, had never ridden before—something that Penrod hadn't counted upon when he'd picked what horses to take. Finally, we changed the saddle to one of the pack animals, high-bred still, but with a calm manner, and Oreg settled on its back securely enough. Bastilla could ride, thank the gods.

  There was no hiding the trail of so many, so I didn't bother to try. We needed distance more than secrecy.

  "Where are we going?" asked Penrod, riding by my side.

  "South," I answered. "Tyrfannig first. If we ride at a good pace, we'll make it there by morning. I think I'll buy our passage on a freighter headed to a major port in Seaford, Newtonburn, maybe. Then we can continue to Oranstone and see what we meet up with."

  As we rode onward, I felt the steady lessening of the magic that impregnated Hurog. It was a dreary, depressing feeling, and I knew it would get worse before it got better, it always did when I left Hurog. I don't think that leaving Hurog had affected my father the same way, perhaps because I was mageborn and he wasn't. But it made me feel like a drunkard deprived of his beer. After a while I'd get used to it again, but it was always unpleasant, especially now when, deep in my heart, I wasn't certain I'd ever come home again.

  "Did I hear you say Oranstone?" asked Axiel, pushing forward to ride shoulder to shoulder with Penrod and me. "Why Oranstone?"

  "There's a war brewing there," I said. "And I think it might be my best chance to regain Hurog. You don't have to join me."

  To my surprise, Axiel, my father's man, who'd been in countless battles at my father's side, didn't say any of the things that Oreg had rightfully mentioned about the foolhardiness of my scheme. Instead, he grinned whitely in the darkness. "I would be honored to accompany you, my lord."

  "If we're going to Oranstone," said Penrod, "shouldn't we get passage to someplace farther south than Newtonburn? The road from Newtonburn to Oranstone goes over several mountain passes, and it will be late fall by the time we get there. I've done it once, and I'll be honest, my lord, I'd not care to do that again."

  I used the conversation to distract myself from the growing discomfort as we got farther from Hurog. "I hadn't actually planned on traveling by sea at all. We'll
buy passage and let Garranon chase the ship while we travel by road through Tallven to the capital at Estian and from there, Oranstone is a straight shot south."

  5—WARDWICK

  I don't know that running was the right thing to do. People died who might not have if I'd stayed. People I loved. But it seemed the only option at the time.

  What had appeared rational and adventurous in the dark of night seemed a lot stupider in the morning light. But no better plan presented itself.

  As we came down out of the foothills, Tyrfannig lay ahead of us. The scattered buildings, touched by the pink light of dawn, were as familiar to me as Hurog's scarred walls.

  I turned to Oreg, who was riding beside me, and murmured, "Can you tell what's going on at Hurog from here?"

  "From anywhere," he said. His body relaxed, and his gaze grew faraway. "You've been discovered. Garranon is saddling horses in the stable."

  "Thank you." Tyrfannig was four hours' ride at top speed. We'd taken nearer to five. I wanted us to be at least an hour out of Tyrfannig when Garranon arrived.

  "Penrod," I called. When he approached, I said, "I'd like you and Axiel to buy what supplies we don't have. I'll get a room at an inn for Bastilla to rest in and leave Oreg and Ciarra there for protection while I go on a few errands of my own."

  "Right," he said. "I'll tell Axiel."

  When Penrod had ridden off, Oreg asked, "May I come with you?"

  I wanted no company, but something in his voice made me ask, "What's wrong?" instead of refusing outright.

  "I cannot be too far from you when I'm away from Hurog."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Unpleasantness for me," he said with a brief, apologetic smile. "Not much for you."

  "How far is too far?" I asked. "My business is no more than a mile from the inn. Is that close enough?"

  He stared at the tips of his horse's ears for a moment, then said with clear reluctance, "It should be all right."

  Since Newtonburn was the next major port on the coast, I didn't have much trouble finding a ship going there. A ship that was leaving before the pursuit from Hurog would make it to Tyrfannig was more difficult. At last I found that the Cormorant was sailing with the tide, and I had to scurry to find her clerk before he left their official list of passengers at the Ship's Office.

  I paid for our passage as he warned me that the captain wouldn't wait for late passengers. I assured him that there would be no trouble; if we missed it, we would catch the next one. The clerk thought me a rich fool, which bothered me not at all. Ward of Hurog's name and seven silver each for six passages went down upon the lambskin list, easy for Garranon to find.

  From the docks I strode to the south side of town. The streets were a little more unkempt, the buildings smaller. I passed three taverns, several chandleries, and a smithy before turning into a cooper's shop briefly. I backtracked to a scruffy little tavern with a sign proclaiming it the Horned Lord. The name was either blasphemous (the horned god was a reviled figure from ancient times) or audacious (a horned lord could be a lord whose wife slept with other men). Either way, it was sure to appeal to sailors.

  As could be expected at this hour of the day, no one was in the tavern when I entered except a ragtag minstrel too involved with the tune he was fingering on an old harp to pay attention to me. I found a clean mug on a shelf just inside the kitchen door and helped myself to ale from an open barrel.

  Taking a seat, I listened to the music. The harper was better than I expected, given his youth, though he would have done well to replace the old harp with something better crafted.

  "The owner will expect payment for that ale," said the minstrel at length, brushing pale gold hair out of his eyes.

  "I have a few coppers," I replied.

  "I heard that the Hurogmeten died." He played a few sorrow-laden notes as he watched me.

  I nodded and sipped the beer. "I didn't think you'd want to come for the funeral."

  He didn't say anything.

  At last I set down my empty mug. "I thought to find you working wood at the cooper's, Tosten, rather than playing tunes for a rabble lot of sailors."

  My brother's chin came up defensively. "I've no talent for wood. But I can play the harp. It may not be real work—"

  I broke in, "Real enough with your skill. Don't confuse me with Father. Music probably pays better than being a cooper's apprentice." He looked away, so I guess it didn't. I cleared my throat. "The reason I left you with the cooper had more to do with your safety than your talents. A handsome lad like you has to be careful around sailors." He stiffened, understanding what I meant, which he wouldn't have when I left him in Tyrfannig.

  "You are the new Hurogmeten." He changed the subject abruptly. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

  Tosten had always been a secretive person. I don't believe he'd ever liked me much. My loud, good-natured idiot self had made him uncomfortable, like a noisy dog and a hot-bred horse. My father's rages and beatings—though Tosten experienced them less often than I did—had been worse for him. He'd fought and fought to be what Father wanted, not seeing that Father would never be satisfied.

  "No, I'm not the Hurogmeten." I stopped to consider it. Actually, I didn't know what the king's writ did with the title. "At least I don't hold Hurog right now."

  I'd gotten his interest. "Why not?"

  "It seems our father decided to declare me unfit, and politics have lent him posthumous aid. Unless our uncle decides to get greedy, Hurog belongs to you."

  There was a long silence that stretched until the back of my neck tightened with tension. If he wanted Hurog, it was his. I didn't think he would, but he might. He was my brother; I would not fight him for it. Tosten stared through the dark wall of the tavern as his fingers, long and graceful like Oreg's, flexed on the table.

  "How?" His voice cracked, as if his mouth were dry.

  "After me, you are our father's heir," I said.

  "I know that," he said impatiently, "but no one knows where I am…except you. I meant, how are you going to do it?"

  I frowned at him. His voice laid some significance on the last two words. "Do what?"

  He snorted. "You don't think I could watch you and Father spar all these years—" He sounded as if he were several decades older than he was. " — without knowing what Hurog meant to you. After you got me out, I thought about why you'd pretend to be stupid when you weren't, and I realized that you were intent on annihilating anything that got between you and Hurog. Father destroying his children; you destroying him." He set the harp aside and stood up to face me. "So you have me here alone, now. You'd better hurry, though. The tavern owner will be back soon; he's gone to get another keg of beer."

  I stared at him, feeling as stupid as I'd pretended to be. I had not a clue what he was talking about. Why should I care that the owner was coming back?

  "Look," I said. "I have to leave here one way or the other, or else I'll end up in the King's Asylum for Unwanted Nobles and Embarrassing Relatives. If you want to go to Estian and train at the Minstrel Hall there, I can give you money. The cooper knows people; he can find an escort for you. If you want Hurog…well, I think Duraugh's all right; but you might keep close to Stala for a while. I'll send Penrod back with you, too—" And Oreg if I could manage it. "Maybe Axiel as well." If he wanted Hurog, I wouldn't need an army. I looked around. "I don't want to leave you here, though; it's not safe. If you can think of anywhere else you'd like to go—" I stopped midsentence as I suddenly understood what he thought I was here to do. "You think I'm here to kill you."

  I was stupid for it to take me so long. The thought that I could kill my brother was so far from the truth, it had never occurred to me he might believe it.

  Tosten, watching my face, flinched.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. His hand moved as if he would reach out, but he jerked it back and wrapped it around his harp so hard it must have hurt.

  I felt light-headed at the sudden insight into how he saw me: battling for Hur
og, so caught up in the struggle that Father's death was the merely the final punctuation.

  "If you died, the king would just claim Hurog for the throne," I said, stepping back. I needed someplace to curl up in and nurse my wounds; I needed to sleep away the nagging fatigue that reminded me I wasn't on Hurog soil. I needed to leave here.

  "You left the cooper's because you thought he was my man," I said, knowing that was part of the truth, though Tosten had always loved music. "Well, enough. As long as you bring in money, the tavern owner should protect you from harm." To my surprise, my voice sounded just as it always had.

  I took out the heavy bag of coins that Oreg had given me and divided its contents in half. I took one pile and slid it back into the purse. There wasn't enough left to hire a band of mercenaries, but I'd find some other way. Half would be enough to pay Tosten's way through whatever school or service he wanted.

  He said my name as I walked out the door.

  I met up with the others at the inn. They were ready to leave, and it wasn't long before Tyrfannig was behind us. We didn't dare take the main highway to Estian; we might run into Garranon by accident. So we traveled the rougher tracks. We rode through the day and stopped before it got too dark to see.

  Stala's admonitions about knowing the men fighting for you ringing in my ears, I assigned Bastilla with me to the first watch. She was still so tired she was drooping, but I was still fresh enough to stay awake until Penrod relieved us.

  There was a knoll just above the camp, and I motioned Bastilla to follow me as the others were laying themselves down to sleep. She limped, but it didn't seem to slow her much.

  While I sat on a fallen log, she folded her arms and leaned against a tree. Though I couldn't see her clearly in the shadows of the evening, I'd watched her as we rode today, my eye drawn to the flawless beauty of her profile. Oreg had managed a bath for her, and clean, her dark hair glinted with red highlights. She was older than I, perhaps a few years older than Mother even, but I doubted she'd seen her fortieth year.