A Turn of Light (29 page)

“How do you—” The miller’s eyes widened. He stared at Horst. “You told them. And Jenn? You told her?”

“I had no choice—”

“She was never to know!” The shout echoed from the rafters. He lowered his voice, but it was no less terrible. “I forgave you for Melusine. I forgave you and took you as my friend. You swore not to tell her!”

The old soldier flinched as Bannan doubted he’d ever done in battle. The two men had shared an unimaginable burden. He found he couldn’t pity them; his compassion was for Jenn Nalynn.

The not-man’s head tilted. “Since the girl’s birth, I’ve watched this guardian’s faithful duty. Did you so prefer her ignorance, Radd Nalynn, that you’d rather he’d failed to save her?”

Horst faced Wyll. His eyes slowly widened, as if seeing a spirit come to life. “Who are you?” he breathed.

All of a sudden, the air fell still. Bannan tensed.

A shadow broke the sunbeams at their feet. Though he didn’t turn, though he couldn’t know, Wyll’s expression hardened and he snapped, “What are you doing here?”

Bannan whirled to see who stood in the mill door, head lowered to fit the opening, nostrils flared.

Scourge.

“Stop worrying,” Jenn told her sister. Tried to tell her sister. It wasn’t easy holding a conversation with someone walking as quickly as possible. Someone with longer legs. She gave a half-skip to catch up. “Wyll wouldn’t hurt Kydd. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.” There might be a bee or two who disagreed, but Wisp hadn’t squashed them. He could, Jenn supposed, but in all their time together he’d done nothing worse than pull up plants and throw them.

Anyone would do that.

“He’d better—Heart’s Blood!” Peggs cried, breaking into a run.

“Did you just swear—” Jenn shut up. They’d come around the house and there was the mill.

The mill with a man hanging from the pulley, like a sack of grain.

Not hanging like a sack, Jenn saw numbly, running with her sister. Improbably straight out from two arms, legs and body flapping like a windblown flag.

Bannan?

“Hold on!” she shouted, which wasn’t much help.

They weren’t the only ones to see his peril. Bannan’s great horse charged up the lane heading straight for the mill door.

As suddenly as he’d appeared in the air, Bannan was sucked back inside.

A prank, Jenn told herself with relief, remembering the bees. That was all. Wisp wouldn’t have hurt Bannan.

Would Wyll?

Doubt. She’d never doubted her friend before.

If she had doubts, she’d never be able to convince Peggs, not now. Or anyone else.

“What do you want?” Wyll demanded.

Bannan frequently wondered the same about his strange horse; it had never occurred to him to ask. “Apples. Oats,” he offered. “There’s no food here. Go on, you.”

Go, he thought, dry-mouthed with fear, this time for Scourge. Who knew? Scourge might listen.

Or not. A great hoof thumped against the wood floor. Again.

Horst and Kydd, having experienced Scourge, looked properly apprehensive. The miller sighed. “Kindly remove your horse, Bannan.”

Lips writhed away from teeth as Scourge snarled his own answer.

“Idiot,” Bannan told him, stepping forward with what he hoped looked the confident stride of a man familiar with his animal and not the truth, which was a man who had no idea what he faced but was responsible for it. “I’m fine.”

Scourge moved too. He lunged through the doorway and took advantage of greater space to arch his neck and expand into the mass of intimidating muscle and bone he was.

Wyll, at whom all this noise and posturing was aimed, lurched to put himself clear of Kydd.

His eyes turned silver.

“Wait!” Bannan looked from Wyll to Scourge and back. “This is my horse,” he said lamely.

To meet the silvered gaze was like staring into the sun. “Your horse. You ride him?” Amused.

Amused was safer. Talking was safer. “Depends how well disposed he feels,” Bannan said lightly, with a meaningful glare at the creature in question, who ignored him, eyes locked on Wyll. Being ignored, Bannan faced the adversary who could talk, doing his best to ignore the blasts of hot breath on the back of his head. “You should remember him. Scourge saved your life in the river.”

“Jenn Nalynn saved me.”

Scourge rumbled in threat. Wyll braced himself. What would happen next hung on a breath, Bannan judged, holding his.

Which was when the next arrivals burst through the door.

It was instant bedlam. Crying, “Are you all right?” Peggs ran to Kydd and threw herself in his arms before he could utter a word. In public. Jenn would have liked to watch, but Uncle Horst ordered, “Get back!” for no reason while their father—Jenn’s heart sank—added his own shout, “Get this animal out of my mill!”

The animal in question half reared and snorted. If he could produce flames from those flared reddened nostrils, Jenn thought with disgust, he would. Wyll was glaring back, his eyes that ominous color, while Bannan stood between the two, which was not at all a good idea.

How had things reached this state?

She’d also like to know how Wyll managed the stairs, which had been a worry of her own, but that wasn’t as important as stopping him from doing something they’d all regret.

First. Jenn walked beside Scourge and leaned her shoulder into his flank to let him know he was in her space, as she would to Wainn’s pony or one of the draft horses. They’d move; she expected he would.

And he did. Though with a surprised “Woomph!” as his hindquarters shifted away. His great head snapped around to look at her.

“About time someone taught you manners,” Wyll said.

Jenn walked past Scourge and Bannan, straight at Wyll, whose expression went from smug to uneasy as she approached. She didn’t stop until they stood nose-to-nose, or would have, if he’d been shorter. “I promised my sister you’d behave,” she said as calmly as she could, which wasn’t calmly at all. “This is not behaving. I told her you were my best friend and I knew you would never,” this with all the force of will she possessed, “ever harm anyone in Marrowdell. And you won’t.”

Unease changed to dismay; silver to astonished brown.

A breeze chased around the mill floor and flung dust at the millstones. It teased at hair and laces and skirts, ruffled a mane, then fled out the door.

In mute acquiescence, Wyll bent his head.

After a long moment, his eyes lifted to hers. She was startled to see they glistened with unshed tears. “You wished me a man, Dearest Heart,” he whispered. “You’ve made me nothing more.”

With a neigh like trumpets, Scourge pounced, pushing Jenn aside with a sweep of his neck to reach Wyll, knocking him to the floor with his huge head.

Jenn staggered. Bannan caught her. Kydd held Peggs, or she held him. Radd raised a shovel and Horst drew his knife.

Scourge, having planted a hoof on Wyll’s chest, lowered his open mouth, dripping with saliva and filled with fangs, a finger’s breadth from Wyll’s face.

And roared.

~ Is this why you returned? ~ Wyll asked. ~ To see me fail? ~ The answer didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The first of the dire visitors he’d been warned against and the twice-cursed turn-born’s expectation shackled him within this now-helpless, useless flesh.

Yesterday, daisies.

Today, his ruin. Leaving Marrowdell unguarded and the girl, exposed to harm.

The timing of her innocent rise to potency couldn’t have been worse.

Why was he not surprised?

~ You give yourself too much credit. ~ The kruar snorted. ~ I heard the cackle of dragons tormenting their prey. ~ The hoof lifted from his chest to stamp beside his head, ringing through the floor with force enough to be heard in the Verge. ~ It pleased me to spoil their play. Had I known it was you, I would have left them in peace. ~

He’d have relished the irony, once. He’d had hope, once. ~ Your breath hasn’t improved. ~ Wyll turned his face to avoid the drool and closed his eyes. ~ Be done. ~

Kruar preferred to ambush his kind, to kill up close. They’d use their wiles and tricks to lure their quarry to the ground and, once they had a dragon safely pinned, employ their tusks to tear an opening through the thin scales at the base of the jaw. Venomous fangs waited in a sheath below a kruar’s tongue. One plunge of those fangs, a pulse of hot venom in that opening? Flame would ignite in the flesh, a flame that would burn till only scales remained.

A slow, hideous death. Dragon flesh tried in vain to heal itself, prolonging the agony. To be fair, kruar died no prettier in the talons of a dragon. Take now. If he’d his own instead of these useless feet, there’d be steaming kruar entrails on the floor.

~ I knew my mistake the instant your foul blood burned my skin. I knew it was you!!! ~ A singsong growl as the kruar happily worked himself to killing rage, then an unexpected pause. ~ Why are you here, like this? ~ the creature demanded. ~ Why are these women and men? Why are there buildings? Horses? And cows?! ~ the last with thorough disgust. ~ Why are there cows? ~

~ Why must I endure your rants as well as your breath? ~ Wyll countered wearily. ~ Why is anything as it is? The turn-born wanted them here, so they made this place— ~

~ Wanted them? Why? Do they not remember? ~

Stupid creature. Of course they remembered. Who did not?

Once before men had come to Marrowdell. They’d built mighty towers and studied the sky, awaiting the next Great Turn. And when it came, they’d cast their wishings, never guessing the consequence if they were answered.

While in the Verge, those who could guess had launched their little war, hoping the powerful would be distracted.

Utter folly seemed the privilege of both worlds.

~ They’ll be here soon. Ask them yourself, if you dare. ~ Wyll kicked out with his good leg, connecting with one of the kruar’s.

The kruar roared, as he’d hoped. It would be over soon.

“Scourge! Heart’s Blood and Blithering Idiots! Stop!” The man’s shout, but amazingly, the roar subsided. The growling ceased.

~ My truthseer pities you. ~

~ Be done. ~

~ Do not order me! ~ Another roar. ~ You command nothing and no one. If I choose, I will let you live. I would enjoy watching you suffer and be pitied. ~