Shadow leader, p.17
SHADOW LEADER, page 17
That night, as if thinking similar thoughts, Aranur paced their tiny off-road camp like a caged wolf. They were half a day from the nearest town, and he was uneasy. The Gray One was a danger to have around the towns. He knew that, but he knew, too, that Dion's skill as a scout had saved them two ninans in crossing the mountains, and her skill as a healer had saved their lives, as well. But she would not leave the wolf and travel alone with him and the others. Nor, he suspected, would the wolf allow her to consider it if he suggested it again. He narrowed his eyes, watching Dion as she moved around the camp. What was it about her that drew his thoughts so often? Her eyes? Her hair? The way she swung into the saddle as if it were a part of her? The way she wrestled with the wolf when she thought no one was looking?
He swore under his breath. What she did and how she looked was no business of his, especially if Rhom had anything to say about it. Dashing the water from his cup, he strode away to stand where the shadows of the trees were darker than black and the moons' light an unwelcome brightness.
A moment later, Dion's scent warned him that she was near. Aranur's nostrils flared briefly, but he did not turn.
“It is peaceful like this,” she said. “As if no thought of war ever crossed that sky.”
He glanced down. “Perhaps it was those thoughts which brought the ancients here in the first place.”
Dion laughed low. “I think not. If you could cross the stars, would you waste your time fighting or would you explore other worlds instead?”
“When I was young,” he said softly, “and the moons rode one behind another like that in the sky, I used to think that if I could only get my foot on a moonbeam, I could walk across the sky and meet the moonmaids in the west.”
“And now?”
He was silent for a moment. “Now I think I have a moon-maid right here.” He looked at her. “Tell me, Dion. Do you like this fighting you do?”
She looked at her hands. “It is a skill,” she returned softly. “One that I earned with as much sweat and blood as any man.”
“I've met women more vicious in politics than a man could ever be,” he said finally, “but I never knew a woman who wielded a sword before.”
The wolfwalker shrugged.”Our village was small, and there were many dangers in Randonnen—worlags and badgerbears not the least. It was not safe for me to run the forest unarmed.” She paused and looked at him in the dark. “And you—do you like sparring?”
“I like fighting,” he said slowly. “There's something about it that makes my blood run fast and my heart leap when I face someone at my level or beyond. It's a test of my skill, my strength—sometimes my life. I even like the pain. It makes me feel alive as much as everything else.”
She nodded. “It's a challenge,” she said softly. “Even when I face someone better than me, I can't give in—I can't turn it down.”
Aranur looked at her, the dark shadows angling across his face until he looked strangely unreal. But his voice, when he answered, was wry. “It's strange to hear that from a lady.”
“You disapprove?” Her voice was expressionless.
“Absolutely,” he said gravely. “If all women could fight like you, we men would never stand a chance in all nine hells.” His eyes twinkled, and she laughed. He gave her a sideways look. “Would you care to walk with me in the woods?” he asked mischievously.
Startled, Dion stared back for a moment. “I would,” she answered finally, “but Rhom is burning holes in my back with his murderous glare, and my leather mail must be wearing thin if I feel it more than you.”
“But, fair lady and most respectable healer,” he said with a wider smile, “I would suffer more than the tortures of the seventh hell to walk one hour with you. Take my cloak.”
“How can I refuse now?” she asked the skies. “A man who's willing to be struck through by a woman's sibling deserves to die with his last wish come true.”
He helped her up, and she dared a quick look over her shoulder before they stepped out of sight. Hishn's tail thumped on the ground and her yellow eyes gleamed slyly before she got up and followed Dion discreetly. Shilia did not bother to hide her grin at the sight of Rhom's widening eyes. Rhom was halfway to his feet before Shilia stopped him with a question. And Gamon had the audacity to wink at Dion before turning back to the fire.
In the morning, Rhom's fury was loud enough to draw a raised eyebrow from the older man, who was going to the stream to refill his water bag. Though most of Rhom's feeling was directed at Aranur, he had plenty to say to Dion about encouraging the man, till she finally pointed out that she was six years past the Age of Promising and, in truth, had always been more discreet than he. The tension between the twins made for a surly ride.
That day and the next stretched into the traffic of many small towns. They were about two days from Zentsis's capital, Wortenton, but they would be bypassing it in the lowlands sixty kilometers to the south. '
“Hopefully,” Gamon told Dion, “no one will have recognized us. It's the trading season, and there are plenty of travelers to hide among.”
“May the moons bless Zentsis's men with slow thoughts for a few more days,” Dion returned.
“Or at least for long enough to let us get out of this county with our skins intact. Though with Longear on our trail, that'll take some doing.”
The wolfwalker glanced at the older man. “Gamon, why is it that you frown every time someone mentions this Longear?”
He scowled, removing his warcap and dragging his fingers through his gray hair before setting the cap back on his head. “I don't know, Dion.” He paused and shook his head. “Well, yes, I do.” He looked across the saddle and furrowed his brow even more deeply. “There's something not right with that man. The way his traps are laid—the way he uses other men— he plays games like the tricks Shilia used to play on Aranur. For a man to use other men that way—it just doesn't make sense.”
“In what way?”
“I don't know, Healer Dione,” Gamon muttered. “I just don't know.”
“I don't pretend to know strategy as you do, Gamon, but I do know there is something wrong. Hishn senses it. I sense it. It's as if every sight and sound is telling me that we should turn tail and run, but every kilometer we ride forward, and every kilometer is clear.''
He nodded. “Anticipation.”
She shook her head. “It's more than that. The closer we get to Wortenton, the more it seems as if I am putting my hand, and then my arm into a—” She frowned, searching for the words. “A mudsucker's mouth.”
The older man glanced at her, but he said nothing else, and as he spurred ahead thoughtfully, Dion was left to worry on her thoughts like a wolf on a bone.
It was late afternoon when Rhom's mount decided to throw a shoe. Typically, they were kilometers from the nearest village by their map, and there did not seem to be a single home in sight, just lightly forested hills, growing dry in the summer heat. They dismounted to repack and leave the beast beside the road—they were in too much of a hurry to nurse it along till Rhom could find a forge to make a new shoe. Hishn, panting, took the drink Dion offered and settled down in the shade while the others worked.
Two slow-moving lumber wagons were approaching, their drivers nodding in the heat. It was not until Gamon had gotten all the bags divided and lashed back on the dnu that he realized Rhom and Aranur were not with them at all. Dion winced inwardly, knowing instinctively what they had gone to settle, and muttering something about boys doing men's jobs, Gamon angrily pulled their dnu off the road so the wagons could pass. One of the drivers raised his hand as if to say thanks, but the gesture seemed to break open a hive of bees. Men began pouring from the wagons, their swords out as they jumped down to the road.
“Soldiers!” Tyrel shouted. “Run for it!”
“Hishn—go!” Dion cried out in the air and in her head. The wolf lunged away into the brush. “Find Rhom!”
The two girls jumped into the saddle and tried to break away, but soldiers surrounded them and grabbed the reins easily from their hands. Tyrel, Gamon, and Dion had drawn their blades and managed to swing up onto their mounts to try to charge at the running men, but there were too many. The soldiers just grabbed the riders' legs and dragged them down. Dion struggled uselessly against them for an instant, borne down by sheer weight, until a large fist crashed against her cheek, and in the burst of blackness, she knew nothing more.
Chapter 8
Arguments are heated
Where hearts have lightly tread
“Well?” Aranur demanded, facing Rhom across the clearing.
“We have something to settle,” Rhom said flatly. “About last night, about the scouting you send Dion to do, about—”
Aranur's eyes narrowed, and he cut Rhom off with a sharp gesture. “I admit I made a mistake in allowing Dion to backtrack when Longear's men were around, but I can hardly be blamed for using her as a scout. She has those skills, and we need them.”
A muscle jumped in Rhom's tightened jaw. “You use her as you would a tool, not a person, Aranur.”
Aranur regarded him for a moment. “Since we're on the subject, Rhom, why don't you look at the way you use your sister, too.”
Rhom glared at him coldly. “You are the one at fault here, not me.” He spit the next words. “Aranur, who lets a woman take his risks and then presumes he's worthy of her favor.”
“I'm not going to deny that I think Dion can take care of herself in most situations. As for our... evening together, she did not find it unpleasant. You can't protect her all her life, Rhom. She's old enough to Journey with you or without you, so she's old enough to make her own decisions. Give her some credit, man.”
“It's not her decisions I'm worried about.”
“What do you mean by that?” They circled, testing each other's strength.
“I've seen the way you look at her. The way you touch her.”
“She's beautiful, Rhom. I'd have been a fool not to kiss her when I had the chance.” Aranur- meant to lighten the atmosphere, but he knew instantly that he had said the wrong thing. What the hell, he thought, half steel or full steel, a man can't fight a lepa with his sword half drawn. “She has a sweet kiss,” he said deliberately. “I'll have to do it again sometime.”
Rhom's eyes went cold. “You moonwormed bag of dnu droppings. You put your hands on my sister again and I'll cut your fingers from their joints and break your face all the way back to Breinigton.” He launched himself at the taller man, and they grappled.
“You're good, Rhom, but I'm faster, trickier, and I just plain know more than you do.” Aranur's foot swept Rhom's leg from under him, and the two men crashed heavily to the ground. Aranur's elbow caught the younger man's ribs and Rhom grunted, but Rhom's fist glanced off Aranur's arm and struck his cheek a jarring blow. They struck each other back and forth till Aranur managed to hook his foot up around Rhom's neck. The blacksmith snarled and drove a vicious kick back into the other man's gut. Aranur rolled, tearing a breath from the frozen air in his gut.
“I don't want to hurt you, Rhom. Your sister—” he grunted as they tumbled over a log and he landed again on his shoulder “—likes me, and I—” He twisted Rhom's elbow and rolled the younger man off. Rhom struck Aranur's gut with his foot, but the taller man took the blow and cracked Rhom a good one in the ribs. ''—like her, too.'' They scrambled to their feet and circled again.
“You're encouraging her in something you have no intention of finishing,” Rhom spit out between gasps, standing Aranur off in the grass. “She has lived in a small village all her life. She has no experience with men like you. And, moons help me, I won't let such a rast-spawned worm take advantage of her.”
“Be careful how you speak of someone who has experience you know nothing of,” Aranur snarled.
“Whatever the experience, I don't want it brought to my sister's lips,” Rhom was incensed. “You don't even think of her as a lady.” He faked to the left, and Aranur ducked back, turning the younger man again into the clearing.
“I don't know what—I think, of her as,” the gray-eyed fighter admitted frankly, warding off another fake and guiding Rhom's steps closer to the heavy brush. “She's unusual, and”—he was baiting the other now—”I've always been— fascinated by the unusual.”
Rhom faked another punch and almost caught the older man off guard.”You have no right to play her like a strange prize.'' His anger sharpened his words as no knife could have done. “She is flesh and blood, and has feelings you wouldn't even recognize—”
“Even if she shared them with me?” Aranur taunted, reminding him of the night in the woods.
Rhom's eyes went icy and he lunged. Aranur slid a kick up under his blocking arms, but it barely stunned the other man. The blacksmith's hands were surprisingly fast, and Rhom faked so that Aranur had to use every sense of movement to counterattack till they broke apart again. Their chests heaved. Blood ran from above Rhom's eye and dripped from his chin. Aranur could feel the swelling on his own cheek and the cut on his jaw. His ribs hurt, but he guessed that Rhom's hurt a hell of a lot more. They looked at each other, waiting like two competing dogs for the next move. They stood for a long moment. Aranur's lips started to twitch toward a smile, and then Rhom's did, too. Then Aranur began to laugh. Rhom straightened ruefully. “You're pretty good.”
“So are you.”
“You'd have beat me if we'd kept going.”
“If I had to.”
“But you didn't really try,” Rhom said, more to himself as if realizing some measure of Aranur's skill.
“I didn't need to.” Aranur caught his breath again. “We've been traveling together, fighting together for a long time. It's natural that Dion and I feel attracted to each other.'' He stopped Rhom's automatic protest with a raised hand. “This fight—I only wanted you to admit that Dion—that Ember Dione can make her own decisions when it comes to a man's attentions.”
Rhom's eyes flashed again, but he held his temper. “You are right,” he said finally, giving Aranur a look that said he still would not hesitate to take matters into his own hands if they got out of hers. “The decision is hers to make.” He paused, and thought about smiling. “I know her well enough to admit that she'd never ask anyone to take care of anything for her anyway.”
“You can say that again.” Aranur did smile then, around his swelling lip, and added slyly, “Shilia's a lot like her, you know.”
Rhom's face changed as he realized Aranur's own position.
“Yes, I am a brother, too,” Aranur said. “I have no complaints about the way you treat Shilia. So far.” Aranur let the words hang in the air, and the other man's uncertain smile grew broader as he saw the juvenile threat each of them was holding out to the other.
Rhom wiped the blood from his chin ruefully, then stiffened.
At the expression on the other man's face, Aranur froze, too, listening intensely. That was the sound of—
“Fighting!” Rhom put their fear into words.
Gamon and Tyrel were alone with the girls. Aranur's mind raced. How could they have been so stupid as to leave the others alone on the road— He did not complete the thought; he was already running, Rhom hard on his heels. But they got only twenty meters before the gray shape of the wolf flashed, then burst through the brush in front of them.
Aranur stopped instantly, and Rhom turned back. “Come on!”
But Aranur grabbed the other man's arm. “Wait ...”
The wolf's yellow eyes met Aranur's, and he felt that shock of another voice in his head. Leader. The clear voice had a husky timber to it, and he felt a strange double vision of himself as the wolf saw him, then the overpowering sense of Dion as the wolf felt her struggling even then. He felt the wolf's agony of running from her partner instead of tearing into the soft flesh that attacked her; he smelled the scent of Dion's hair and the acrid sweat of sudden fear as she went down; he blinked and staggered at the blank hole that filled his head as she was struck unconscious. They have my healer, the wolf said, projecting a soft worry and an underlying fury in his head. Now you must stalk them to their lair.
He cleared his throat. “Wolf—Gray Hishn, you honor me.” Rhom was staring at him. “Aranur,” he said urgently. They heard the sounds of men crashing through the brush toward them. Aranur nodded. They ran.
Chapter 9
Look beyond the coffers
To the men who wield the swords.
The one who rules their hearts and minds
Is the one who guides the wars.
The crown is not the only one
Who writes the songs we sing;
Some games of power, blood, and death
