Dryad-Born
Page 142
“Do you think we will survive this quest?”
“I plan to.”
“I’m trying to be serious, Paedrin.”
“What odds do you think Erasmus would give us? I miss that strange bird. Of all the Preachán I’ve known, I will miss him the most. I am sure he would have offered a prediction by now. It would have been wrong.”
She butted him with her elbow. “I said be serious.”
“Whatever for?” he asked. “This is about as hopeless a situation as one can be in. I may as well find some humor if I can.”
Their banter was interrupted by Kiranrao marching toward them, his face a mask of anger.
“I hate that man,” Paedrin said softly, his eyes narrowing.
“Shhh,” Hettie warned.
The Romani reached them, his expression curling into a sneer seeing them so close to each other. He felt Hettie ease away from him, just slightly enough that it caused a prickle of resentment.
“Come, Finder,” Kiranrao said, looking down at Hettie. “I would speak with you.”
“Is she yours to command?” Paedrin said in a warning tone.
He saw Hettie tense, but he did not care. He looked up at the man, feeling the magic seeping from the blade at his waist. The Iddawc was no longer seeking someone to master it. It had found someone it could master.
“I do not wish to waste many words arguing with you, Bhikhu,” Kiranrao said in a flat voice. “Tyrus promised her asylum in Silvandom in return for aiding in his quest. When the dawn chases away the shadows, it will chase away any hope of that safe hold. We are renegades, all of us. But while the Arch-Rike insists that no one will shelter us, I can assure you that we Romani will shelter each other. Come, girl.”
Paedrin felt Hettie start to rise and he grabbed her arm. “You do not have to go with him.”
She looked in Paedrin’s eyes and he saw the conflicting loyalties. “I know I don’t,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. But she stood anyway.
Kiranrao smirked with satisfaction. The look he gave Paedrin was full of enmity. “Come, girl. The stars make no noise.”
Paedrin watched them walk off together, his heart turning blacker with each step they took.
“Must you provoke him?” Hettie sighed wearily.
Kiranrao glanced at her. “Yes.”
She sighed again. “What do you want?”
“To understand your loyalties. You are Romani.”
“I am a Bhikhu now. You got the blade you wanted. You used me to get it. Our bargain is complete. I owe you nothing.”
He looked at her approvingly. “I like a girl with fire in her blood.”
“You already have a vial of it with you. The price was paid, Kiranrao.”
He shook his head slowly. “There is always a debt, girl. You know that. Your talents are wasted as a Bhikhu. You will grow bored of it eventually. And I am patient. I wanted to speak with you because I have a sense that Tyrus is going to fail again.”
She stiffened and cursed herself for the involuntary reaction.
“You sense it too, good.”
Hettie shook her head. “You mistook me.”
“No, girl. I did not. You think like a Romani still. You sniff out the weakness. The Druidecht is weak. The Shaliah is weak. The Dryad-born is weak. Even your Bhikhu is weak. Only the strong will survive the Scourgelands. Only the most ruthless. That is how Tyrus survived last time. It is how I intend to survive.”
Hettie snorted. “You will abandon him already?”
He shook his head. “The dice are cast but they are still rolling. They will settle soon. Very soon. When they do, we must be prepared to flee. Do you know how to work his magic? The one that makes him come and go? I want you to steal it from him.”
She stared at him. “You think he might not notice it missing?”
“Don’t be a fool, Hettie. When his plan crumbles to dust, you will steal it. And we will flee together. Just the two of us. Remember that. The Sword of Winds you carry…it will help us to escape. So will my blade.”
She bit her lip. “But if we succeed?”
A crooked smile twisted on his mouth. “Then the Arch-Rike of Kenatos is a dead man.”
Trasen plodded up the road listlessly, seeing the home at the end of the rise amidst the grape trellises and the fluttering green leaves. His journey was now at an end. As he saw the trellises, there was a nagging, empty feeling in his mind. A memory about greeting someone amidst them, yet he could not recall when it had happened or who he had seen. There was something just beyond his reach, a recollection that teased and hinted. The sandy dirt was familiar. The looming barn was familiar. Just seeing the vineyard brought back a flood of pleasant memories that warmed his heart, but something was missing. He stared at it, feeling some jagged, gaping hole in his soul.
“I plan to.”
“I’m trying to be serious, Paedrin.”
“What odds do you think Erasmus would give us? I miss that strange bird. Of all the Preachán I’ve known, I will miss him the most. I am sure he would have offered a prediction by now. It would have been wrong.”
She butted him with her elbow. “I said be serious.”
“Whatever for?” he asked. “This is about as hopeless a situation as one can be in. I may as well find some humor if I can.”
Their banter was interrupted by Kiranrao marching toward them, his face a mask of anger.
“I hate that man,” Paedrin said softly, his eyes narrowing.
“Shhh,” Hettie warned.
The Romani reached them, his expression curling into a sneer seeing them so close to each other. He felt Hettie ease away from him, just slightly enough that it caused a prickle of resentment.
“Come, Finder,” Kiranrao said, looking down at Hettie. “I would speak with you.”
“Is she yours to command?” Paedrin said in a warning tone.
He saw Hettie tense, but he did not care. He looked up at the man, feeling the magic seeping from the blade at his waist. The Iddawc was no longer seeking someone to master it. It had found someone it could master.
“I do not wish to waste many words arguing with you, Bhikhu,” Kiranrao said in a flat voice. “Tyrus promised her asylum in Silvandom in return for aiding in his quest. When the dawn chases away the shadows, it will chase away any hope of that safe hold. We are renegades, all of us. But while the Arch-Rike insists that no one will shelter us, I can assure you that we Romani will shelter each other. Come, girl.”
Paedrin felt Hettie start to rise and he grabbed her arm. “You do not have to go with him.”
She looked in Paedrin’s eyes and he saw the conflicting loyalties. “I know I don’t,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. But she stood anyway.
Kiranrao smirked with satisfaction. The look he gave Paedrin was full of enmity. “Come, girl. The stars make no noise.”
Paedrin watched them walk off together, his heart turning blacker with each step they took.
“Must you provoke him?” Hettie sighed wearily.
Kiranrao glanced at her. “Yes.”
She sighed again. “What do you want?”
“To understand your loyalties. You are Romani.”
“I am a Bhikhu now. You got the blade you wanted. You used me to get it. Our bargain is complete. I owe you nothing.”
He looked at her approvingly. “I like a girl with fire in her blood.”
“You already have a vial of it with you. The price was paid, Kiranrao.”
He shook his head slowly. “There is always a debt, girl. You know that. Your talents are wasted as a Bhikhu. You will grow bored of it eventually. And I am patient. I wanted to speak with you because I have a sense that Tyrus is going to fail again.”
She stiffened and cursed herself for the involuntary reaction.
“You sense it too, good.”
Hettie shook her head. “You mistook me.”
“No, girl. I did not. You think like a Romani still. You sniff out the weakness. The Druidecht is weak. The Shaliah is weak. The Dryad-born is weak. Even your Bhikhu is weak. Only the strong will survive the Scourgelands. Only the most ruthless. That is how Tyrus survived last time. It is how I intend to survive.”
Hettie snorted. “You will abandon him already?”
He shook his head. “The dice are cast but they are still rolling. They will settle soon. Very soon. When they do, we must be prepared to flee. Do you know how to work his magic? The one that makes him come and go? I want you to steal it from him.”
She stared at him. “You think he might not notice it missing?”
“Don’t be a fool, Hettie. When his plan crumbles to dust, you will steal it. And we will flee together. Just the two of us. Remember that. The Sword of Winds you carry…it will help us to escape. So will my blade.”
She bit her lip. “But if we succeed?”
A crooked smile twisted on his mouth. “Then the Arch-Rike of Kenatos is a dead man.”
Trasen plodded up the road listlessly, seeing the home at the end of the rise amidst the grape trellises and the fluttering green leaves. His journey was now at an end. As he saw the trellises, there was a nagging, empty feeling in his mind. A memory about greeting someone amidst them, yet he could not recall when it had happened or who he had seen. There was something just beyond his reach, a recollection that teased and hinted. The sandy dirt was familiar. The looming barn was familiar. Just seeing the vineyard brought back a flood of pleasant memories that warmed his heart, but something was missing. He stared at it, feeling some jagged, gaping hole in his soul.
