David weber, p.11
Beast, page 11
Majesty leans over me and brushes fur from my face. “Sarah. My precious Sarah.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I couldn’t get to the princess. I tried, but . . .” Tracker shakes his head.
“You’ve done well, especially considering these trying days.”
“My loyalties don’t shift with the balance of power, Your Majesty. Lord Avery did not win that wager fairly, so you are still king, no matter what others may say.”
“Will you two stop?” Tracker’s mate pushes between him and Majesty. “We have to get this child in bed or the whole trip will be dust. Mason, lay her down in there, then fetch my herbs from upstairs.”
Tracker carries me past a curtain and gently places me on a bed in the corner of the small room. I roll toward the wall; heaviness pulls my eyes closed. I hear Majesty approach.
Please let me go. I’m not worth the work.
Chapter 18
Stowaway
I want to be left alone, should be left alone. It would be better that way. Why can’t Majesty and Tracker and his mate see that? But they do not go away or leave me behind. Not Tracker. Not his mate. Not Majesty. One of them is always at my side as I drift from shadows to light and back into deep darkness. Often they have food or water in hand. I would rather have another blanket. Coldness seeps under the one I have and prickles my skin until even my insides shiver.
“Come on, Sarah. Fight. Fight the fever.” Majesty’s voice pleads with me over and over.
I do not want to hear his words. I do not want to fight or do anything else he says. But he is Majesty. How can I say no?
Tracker’s mate comes in. “Any change?”
“No.” Majesty’s word comes out hard, flat.
She places a hand on my forehead. “The fever should have broken by now. I don’t know what to make of it. It’s like she doesn’t want to live.”
“That makes my decision final.” Ever the hunter, Tracker comes in without a sound, unseen until he wishes to be seen. “I’m going after Princess Tabitha.”
His mate bumps the bed with her abrupt turn. “But Mason—”
“It’s our only hope. I’ve watched these two since I picked her up. They created a special bond, and now Princess Sarah blames herself for what happened to Princess Tabitha.”
Princess? My thoughts stutter. When was that added to my name?
But Majesty does not correct Tracker. “He’s right. Go. With my blessing.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will leave within the fortnight, within the week if the weather is good. Maybe, if I hurry, I can save them both.”
“I’m going after Princess Tabitha.”
Tracker’s words finally pierce my darkness like an arrow lit with fire: He knows how to find Tabby. If I follow him, maybe I can help bring her back to Majesty, and I will be able to meet his eyes again. I roll over with a sigh and look around.
Shadows cling to the corners of the small room like spider webs, held at bay by a lamp hanging near the door. The chair next to the bed sits empty except for a lump of cloth and tangle of thread. Someone bangs around in the other room.
I push out from under the thick pile of blankets and slide over the edge of the bed to the cool stone floor. My back itches, but pain no longer claws it. I swing forward a couple of steps. My other leg drags behind as always, but at least I can still walk.
Pushing around the curtain, I nose into the main room. Again I think of Master’s house. This room is bigger, but it has the same stone floor, the same wood chairs and table, the same warm hearth and scent of smoke and cooking food. Only the ladder going into the ceiling is not the same.
Tracker’s mate pulls a pot off the fire with her apron and turns around. “What are you doing out of bed? Get back. Quick. Before death catches you.”
I slink back a step and duck my head. She is definitely Tracker’s mate.
She dumps the pot on the table and marches toward me. “Didn’t you hear me? Climb back under those blankets. Now.”
I sidestep her before she can back me into a corner. I’ve spent too much time in the bed. I need to move, run. But where to go? I need to stay near so I can watch Tracker and know when to follow him. And angering his mate would not be good either. I cannot take another beating so soon, and Tracker’s mate, like Master’s, looks more than strong enough to give a hard one.
She rolls her lips into her mouth and her shoulders shake. Finally laughter spills out. “My Mason was right. You are a willful one. I can see that now. No wonder he fumed and fussed so.”
I cock my head. Laughter is not how I thought she would act. What should I do now?
She lifts up the blankets and waves for me to crawl under them. “If you would please, Princess Sarah?”
My toes curl. The stone floor is cold.
“Then I’ll get you something hot to eat.”
My insides rumble. She wins. I swing over and crawl back into the bed.
Boots stomp into the other room and a door thumps closed. “Evie, we’re back,” calls Tracker.
His mate, tucking the blankets around me, shakes her head. “As if I couldn’t tell. Never have convinced him to use that same wood stealth in the house.”
Majesty pushes aside the curtain. He’s changed. Gone is the lightness and laughter. Now his shoulders stoop forward and shadows linger in his eyes. And why is he dressed in plain brown clothing like Tracker? He steps to the side of Tracker’s mate. A smile spreads across his face, a face that has more lines than I thought it did. “Sarah, you’re awake.”
I dip my head away from him. How can he smile at me after the way I failed him?
Tracker’s mate slips away, and Majesty settles on the edge of the bed. “For a while there, Mason and Evie thought you had given up completely.” He brushes some of the fur from my face. “But you’ve proven once more your strength goes deeper than what the eye can see.”
Strength? His words swirl like leaves in the wind so I cannot grasp them. I cannot run or fight for more than a few minutes, and even if I could, my useless leg always slows me down. Strong are the Others, Tracker, Two-Eyes. I am not strong.
“I am honored that you gave so much of that strength for Tabby and me. But even if you hadn’t, I’d still be glad you’re here.” Majesty rises and bends over me, pressing his mouth to my head. And though I do not want to, I lean into his touch, into his words.
Then he is gone, leaving the hunger for more gnawing at my insides.
How long must we wait? How many more nights must I twist in my sleep, my legs aching for a run? How many more days must I stare at the cobweb darkness in the corners of the room? Tabby is somewhere out there, caged by Two-Eyes, while I lie here protected, warm, well-fed. She should be the one here. I am the one Two-Eyes wanted. I am why he came, why the wager was made, why Majesty lost the game.
I thrash under the blankets, but I cannot go. Tracker must leave first so I can follow him—and he cannot go because storms rage.
Light fades into darkness. Darkness gives way to light. Still the wind howls, the water from the sky pelts the house, and Tracker paces the other room. I would be at his side, but his mate will not let me out of the bed for more than a little at a time.
So I wait. And listen. Tracker and Majesty often bend over the table in the other room, talking, when they think I sleep. Many of their words I do not understand, but I hold onto them anyway. What is meant may be made known to me later.
The storm finally stops. Tracker no longer paces. He goes in and out of the house all day, doors banging. Majesty opens a window by my bed so I can watch. My nose twitches at the thick scent of warm air, wet dirt, and damp leaves. I want to run, but I must wait a little longer. Tracker loads a wagon with blankets and pots and bags. He will leave soon.
“Everything ready?” Majesty’s whisper yanks me from a light sleep.
“As ready as I can be, Your Majesty.” Tracker scuffs and bumps around.
“What about Sarah?”
“If all goes well, I’ll be back with Princess Tabitha in less time than a hunting trip would take.”
“And if you two keep going on so, she won’t be asleep much longer.” Tracker’s mate pulls the curtain across my doorway.
Good. I push the blankets off and dress in my he-cub clothes as fast as my clumsy paws will let me. The gold feather necklace from Tabby glints at the bottom of the pile. I lightly touch it, then jerk away. That belongs to Sarah. I am not Sarah. I push open the wood boards covering the window.
The outside is gray, caught in the time between dark and light. This is good. I can see without being seen. I plop down onto the squishy ground. A cool breeze wraps around me in greeting. I shiver, but my face lifts at its touch, my nose twitching. The days of heat and berries are not long off.
A door creaks. The voices of Majesty and Tracker come nearer. I bound across the ground—how good that feels!—and climb into the wagon. Some blankets are piled in the corner. I slip under them.
Footsteps squish past the wagon. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty. I won’t come back until your daughter is safe in my arms.” Metal jangles from the front.
“I do not doubt it. But I wish I could go with you.”
“No!” At Tracker’s loud protest, the horse knickers and the whole wagon rocks, causing me to clutch the blanket under me. “Lord Avery stays his hand only in hope of pulling you out.”
“Shh, girl, all’s well.” Majesty quiets the horse. “I know, Mason. I only express the longing of my father’s heart.”
“Forgive me. I spoke rashly.”
“Pardon given. Go and return quickly, with all speed and strength.”
“I will, Your Majesty.” The wagon creaks as Tracker climbs up onto the front. “I swore at Princess Tabitha’s birth to protect her, and I fully intend to keep that oath.”
I cock my head. Tracker is a part of Majesty’s pack? Then why was he with the slavers? Tabby—he was there to protect Tabby. Then reins snap, and the wagon jerks into motion, casting from my head Tracker’s words and days now gone. For I am on my way. Soon Tracker will find Tabby, and I will bring her back to Majesty.
The horse’s feet clop on wood, and a river rumbles below us. It sounds strong and fast, the kind of water I would not want to get caught in. Then we’re over and the chirping and chattering of first light surrounds us.
The wagon stops. “Come on out. We’re beyond sight of the house.”
My body lumps like the rocks of the ground. Is Tracker talking to me?
“Sitting up front will be more comfortable than hiding under a pile of blankets, Princess.”
I peek out. Tracker faces forward. Does he plan to take me back?
“The ride to town will be long. You might as well join me and help me plan how to rescue Princess Tabitha.”
I crawl over the seat.
Shaking his head, he finally looks down at me. “Evie would kill me if she knew we’d let you come along.”
He and Majesty knew I was here and said nothing? I flatten myself on the narrow board his feet rest on.
He lifts his head and stares straight ahead, solid and immovable as a cliff of dark rock. “I don’t work with cowering animals.”
I lick my lips and tip my head back to look up at the seat. I don’t belong up there. But if Tracker becomes angry, he might send me back to Majesty. I awkwardly crawl up beside him. My useless leg hangs thin and twisted against his straight strong one. And I think I can help him get Tabby from Two-Eyes?
A cap plops on my head. “Tuck your hair under that. We don’t want any unnecessary attention.” Tracker slaps the reins against the dark horse’s back and the wagon lurches forward.
I do as he says, keeping my gaze down, shoulders hunched forward. I still don’t belong here.
The light grows warm on my back, and my forepaws ache from clutching the board I sit on. Tracker stares ahead, saying nothing. Is he angry with me for coming?
Hooves of fast-moving horses approach. My head jerks up. Where are they coming from?
Tracker glances over at me. “You hear something?”
I nod.
“Horses?”
Another nod.
“Probably Lord Avery’s men. I expected that. We’re close to Ahavel’s border here.” He peers ahead. “Can you act like you can’t hear?”
What?
“If you can, keep your head down and do it.”
My paws tighten on the seat. Keeping my head down is no problem. But acting like I cannot hear?
Four men turn a bend in the road, coming toward us. “Halt!” They surround us, forcing the wagon to stop. The lead rider in red and black pulls aside Tracker. “Name and business.”
“Thomas of Riggings. I bring goods for market.”
I cannot see the lead rider’s face, but thick fingers—too thick for their gloves—grasp reins. Sausage Fingers flicks a hand toward another rider, who slips to the back, pokes through pots, and flips through blankets. What would have happened if I had been hiding back there still?
“Who’s the boy?” Sausage Fingers circles around to me.
I keep my head bowed. Act dead, and predators will soon seek prey elsewhere.
Tracker rests his hand on my shoulder. “My helper. I call him John.”
“Call?”
Tracker shrugs. “He’s a stray I picked up about a year ago. Can’t hear or speak, but he’s smart and a hard worker.”
“Very likely.” Sausage Fingers grabs my face, forcing me to look up at him. “Who are you, boy? What are you doing here?”
A whimper and a growl tangle in my throat so neither can get out. This man is not my master. He belongs to another pack. I do not need to listen to him or do as he says.
Tracker shifts and tightens his grip on my shoulder. Something is about to happen.
A pot shatters behind me.
“Not even a flinch.” Sausage Fingers shoves me against Tracker. “Find anything back there?”
“A few blankets, clay pots, a couple of sacks of old potatoes, and this.” A small bag jingles as it is held up.
“That’ll do.”
“But that money belongs to me.” Tracker leans forward. “I need it to conduct business.”
“Consider it your proper fee for crossing the border.” The riders clear out of our way, and Sausage Fingers waves us on. “Move along before I decide otherwise.”
Tracker mumbles something and slaps the reins. We rumble away.
When the men can no longer see or hear us, Tracker nods at me with a half smile. “Not bad. Together we just might return Princess Tabitha to His Majesty alive and well.”
Chapter 19
Infiltration
The heaviness is newly come.
The town looks like the others that were under Majesty’s care. Open space. Clean houses. New green spikes pushing out of the ground around them. Early flowers adding patches of yellow and purple. A town full of light and color.
But a heaviness hangs in the air, and I think of the gray border town. I scoot nearer to Tracker. I may not trust him like I do Majesty, but he is strong and able to protect me—if he chooses to do so.
“I know, Princess. I feel it too.” He clutches the reins tightly.
The heaviness is strongest in the big people. In the way masters’ shoulders slump. In how mates keep cubs at their sides. In the frowns that crease faces and in the narrowing of eyes. And my ears, though they are to hear nothing, hear everything: hushed words, barely restrained growls, the lack of chatter and laughter.
Tracker turns into an open square, filled with other horses and wagons. Men unload sacks and barrels and poles and cloth. Animals penned in one corner bleat and moan. The noises ease some of the heaviness.
Tracker helps me down to the ground. “Do you know what to do?”
I nod. He told me his plans when we traveled. First we need more information. So I am to listen. Find any word on Tabby.
“Then go ahead. But be careful. If any of Lord Avery’s men see you walking around, they’ll know who you are.”
The beast-child. A shiver slides down my back at the words Tracker does not say and does not need to say. I will walk as if stalking prey.
I work my way through shadows and around buildings. In and out. Back and forth. Every road and path and good hiding place around the square must be mine. I must be ready to run from Two-Eyes—or hide from Tracker, if he should turn on me. Around me, words are thrown about. Words about the cold and the storms. Words about the “fineness” of cloth. Words about whether crops will be good or if a baby will be born soon.
As I circle around the square, my cap keeps sliding off my head. I stop and tuck it away so I don’t lose it. When I look around again, a nearby seller is backing into the shadows with a second man. No one else seems to see that, and from how they look over their shoulders, that is what they want. I creep into the shadows behind them.
“Careful, Joshua. That’s treason these days.” The seller’s voice is very low, and I must listen hard to know the words.
The second man with a scruffy beard growls. “This tyranny is treason. Taxes have tripled in the past month, and what taxes leave, they take in extra fees or just outright steal. And worse”—he leans forward—“rumor has it that this new king holds the princess and will force her to marry him.”
“But the princess is barely more than a child!”
“It doesn’t matter to him.” Scruff-Beard spits on the ground. “He only thinks of silencing us, the dog.”
“May the kingdom be returned to His Majesty King Elroy soon!”
A swordsman wearing red and black saunters by. The seller moves some of his pots around. Scruff-Beard picks one up and looks at it closely. I wait unmoving; I need to know all these two do.
The swordsman continues on, but the seller keeps his eyes down. “The rumor is probably just that, trying to lure us out.”
“Not according to my man.” Scruff-Beard lifts another jar to the light. “He says a servant saw her in the castle’s north tower.” He pulls open a pouch.
The seller takes the shiny pebbles. “If it is true, she is to be the most pitied of all.”
