Daybreak (21 page)

Kael had been expecting a clasp of the hand, or perhaps a slap on the back. Instead, he got a full-fledged embrace. He grimaced when Baird squeezed him tightly — partly because the closeness was a bit uncomfortable, but mostly because he worried for any birds that might be nesting inside his billowing fur robes.

“They keep me company, and
I
keep them warm,” Baird explained when he asked. “Seed is difficult to find in the winter, but the wildmen have their ways. My friends’ little bellies glow with a fire’s warmth when fed.”

“All right, but couldn’t you feed them just as well from the balcony?”

“I tried that for a while,” Baird admitted. “But when one wakes to the sweet little pleas of chilly feet and frozen beaks … one’s resolve melts quickly.”

The streaks running down his shelves weren’t likely to melt so quickly — if they melted at all. But before Kael could say as much, Baird tugged him forward.

“Follow me, young man. We’re very nearly finished.”

There was a little table outside, and a couple of stocky chairs. A wildwoman sat in one of them. She wore her fiery hair in a braid that draped over her shoulder. There was a quill in one of her hands and a stack of parchment pinned beneath her elbow, no doubt in an attempt to keep the pages from being swept by the wind.
 

The wildwoman watched the snow swirling across the fields beneath them with eyes that were a deep, listless blue. When she saw Kael approaching, she knocked the snow out of the other chair with a swipe of her hand. “You might as well sit. This is going to take a while.”

“Nonsense! We’re near the end.”

“We’ve been
near the end
since yesterday,” she retorted with a flick of her quill.

“Yes, well, there’s simply no guessing how long so grand a story will take. You must tell it until it’s finished. Now, where were we …?” 

Baird felt along the table until he found the balcony’s edge. He leaned over the railing and faced out at the Valley — as if he were staring pensively into the distance.

Kael hardly glanced at him before he went back to squinting at the wildwoman. He hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on their paint to tell their faces apart. Without the unique swirls and dots adorning their features, it was like all of Thanehold had been replaced with strangers.

But those eyes ...
 

“Lydia?” he guessed.

Her smile broke into a grin. “You remember!”

“Of course I remember.” Kael had spent so many hours with that band of craftsmen that he didn’t think he’d ever forget them — even if it took him a moment without their paint. “How have you be —?”

“Ahem, if you please?” Baird called from the rails.

Lydia rolled her eyes at him before she went back to the parchment.

“I remember it was a warm summer day — a day at the height of summer, in fact,” Baird began. “It was only by the mercy of strangers that I arrived at Midlan unscathed … well,
mostly
unscathed. If you will remember, dear reader, I had to gouge my own eyes out in chapter twelve.
 

“So how did I know it was summer, you ask? Well, because it was hot! And it wasn’t a lovely dry heat, either. No — this was that dreadful, sticky sort of heat. It was as if a dragon crouched above the fortress and panted damp clouds of breath upon our heads. Made me wish the fire would fall and be done with it, to be honest. One blistering bolt is a greater relief than a slow summer’s boil …”

Baird rambled on, but Kael wasn’t listening.

Something squirmed in the back of his head, maddened him with its whispers. For a moment, Thanehold disappeared: he stood aboard the fisherman’s vessel once more and his eyes watched the glowing orb grow in the sky above him. There was a flash of heat, a burst of wind —

“Drat and blast it!” Baird cried. His brows fell over the top of his bandages as he spun around and hissed at the doors: “What happens next?”

Kael wasn’t sure. But there were more important matters to worry about. The thing in the back of his head stabbed at him with its muffled warnings. He wished he could hear what it said.

The vision darkened and the whispers evaporated, leaving him more frustrated than ever.

“What is it, young man? I can hardly think with your sighs blasting through my ears like a giant’s cough,” Baird grumbled.

His sigh hadn’t
blasted
anywhere. He’d barely made a sound. “Midlan’s at the Cleft. They’re marching for the Valley.”

“Is that all?” Baird snorted before he could nod. “The rebel whisperers had Midlan on its heels towards the end of the War — and that was without a true Wright at their lead. I can only imagine what will become of the King, should he choose to meet
you
in battle.”

“If I had the wildmen, things would be simple,” Kael agreed. When he glanced at Lydia, he saw she’d gone back to staring at the fields. Still, he spoke quietly: “Gwen won’t listen to me. She won’t fight. I can’t do it on my own.”

“Nonsense. You’ve got the Swordmaiden by your side. And I hear she’s
always
by your side,” Baird added with a wide grin. “More and more often, each and every day —”

“Kyleigh’s gone,” Kael said shortly.

Baird’s grin vanished. “Well, then I suppose you’re on your own.”

“I know that.”

“And you haven’t got the slightest chance against Midlan on your own —”

“I know!” Kael said sharply. “I know I’ve got no chance. I don’t need you barking at me about it.”

“
You’re
the one who’s barking.” Baird swept a knobby hand to his thin chest. “
I’m
merely trying to help.”

Kael tugged roughly on his curls, trying to think through the flames that whipped behind his eyes. “If I had a month to wear her down, Gwen might see reason. But I haven’t got a month, this time.” An idea suddenly came to him. “What if you were to … convince her for me?”

“Hmm.” Baird scratched at the scruff on his chin. “An interesting idea. What would you have me say, exactly?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is you say to whisper people in line.”

Baird gasped as if he’d just found a troll stashed in one of his pockets. “No, young man. Oh dear, oh me —
no
.” He waved his hands frantically before him. “Do you not remember what I said? The man who holds the whole realm captive upon his tongue must be
careful
with his gifts. I would never use those powers upon a friend. I would use them only if I had no other choice.”

“Well, we haven’t got another choice,” Kael said evenly. “If Gwen doesn’t listen, she’ll be killed.”

Baird pursed his lips. “Words can be powerful, yes. But they can also be frightfully vague. If I told the Thane to obey everything you commanded, you might in jest send her walking off a cliff!”

Kael wasn’t so sure it would’ve been
in jest
. But he could see Baird’s point. “What if you told her to only obey the serious things I said?”

“How is she to know whether or not you’re serious? My words move feet, young man. They can’t read minds.”

“Well, then have her obey only
one
command — whichever one I give her first.”

Baird threw his hands up with such vigor that he nearly tumbled off the balcony. “Which one would you give her? If you said
go fight the King
, she would march out straight away — barehanded and lost in a trance. Her eyes would be so fixed upon Midlan that she would pay the land no heed. I wager she would drown in the first river that snaked across her path.
No
, young man,” he said again. “Words are powerful and dangerous things — much better suited to the ears of my enemies.”

Kael was about to argue when Baird slapped his hands against the sides of his head and cried:

“Stop it! For the sake of all that’s still good in the realm, would you kindly stop that racket?”

At first, Kael had no idea what he was talking about. It was only when Lydia stopped drumming her fingers against the table that he noticed there’d been any noise in the first place.

As the silence crept in, he realized it’d been the tapping of her fingers that’d made his blood run hot, made everything seem more desperate. Even after she stopped, his heart beat after it.

“Sorry. I can’t help myself,” she said with a sheepish grin.

Baird frowned at the air above her left shoulder. “Be that as it may, you were assigned to finish my book. Where did we leave off?”

Kael glanced at the pages between Lydia’s arms and saw that Baird’s words had trailed into scribbles back at
a warm summer’s day
. Instead, an elaborate drawing filled the pages of his story — one in which the beggar-bard was so covered in birds that Kael could hardly make out his bandages.

Lydia reddened at his grin and turned the page over quickly. “I think we ought to end here for the day —”

“But the day’s only just begun,” Baird sputtered. His chin followed the rustling of the papers as she hurried for the balcony doors. “We were about to get to the exciting bit!”

“And in a few months, I’m sure we’ll get there.”

“Blasted girl,” Baird growled when she slammed the door. He felt around for Lydia’s empty chair and plopped into it with an exasperated sigh. “When I asked for a scribe, I expected to get a young person who actually
cared
for words. I’ve been through fourteen different scribes and not a one’s shown any interest — but I’d take them all back in an instant to have this one gone.

“If it’s not the tapping, then it’s the whistling or the humming.” Baird groaned into his knobby hands. “I swear she’ll be the death of me.”

Even if Baird could’ve seen his smile, Kael doubted if he could have held it in. It seemed the beggar-bard had finally met his match.

“It’s a great relief to speak with someone who understands,” Baird said after a moment. “A Wright knows the power of words better than anyone. He sees them wholly, in their entire form. He understands them so well that a word passing before his eyes shall forever be remembered.”

Kael was caught off-guard by his smile. “What do you mean, I can see their entire form?”

“All those who read are searching — they seek to fill the empty portions of their souls. A warrior feels a word’s power inside his chest. A craftsman sees its beauty reflected behind his eyes. And in a line’s calm repose, a healer finds his courage. But a Wright … well, a Wright can hear all of their meanings. He knows them to their full extent.” Baird smiled. “And so he does not soon forget.”

Something about what he’d said made Kael feel uneasy. “I don’t think —”

“Ah, and speaking of words …” Baird began digging through his robes with gusto. Out came a handful of seed, bits of string, and something that looked suspiciously like a wadded-up handkerchief. Finally, he slapped a sealed envelope upon the table and declared: “I want you to keep this for me, young man. I don’t trust it, here. There are too many wandering eyes about, too many curious young gazes. They don’t understand the danger … but you do.”

He certainly did.

Kael’s stomach bunched into a knot as he stared down at the familiar, twisting seal of Midlan. The dragon’s tiny eye seemed locked upon him — daring him to turn the envelope onto its front. But if he did, and if he read the words scrawled across it, the whispercraft would overtake him. It would steal his legs and march him straight for Midlan.

His fate would be the same as all of the other whisperers at the end of the War.

“I’m not keeping that for you.”

“Just stick it inside your pocket —”

“I’m not sticking it anywhere.”

“— and you’ll forget it soon enough.”

“No, Baird,” Kael said sharply. “It’s too dangerous. Just burn it and be done.”

He sputtered indignantly. “But it’s one of my treasures!”

“It’s evil, is what it is,” Kael growled.
 

The beggar-bard’s face hung so piteously that he couldn’t bring himself to tear it to pieces … at least not in front of Baird.
 

“Fine. I’ll take it,” he muttered, stuffing the envelope into the pocket of his breeches.

Baird’s wide grin returned. “Thank you, young man! Look after it well.”

He had no intention of looking after it. The moment he was out of range of Baird’s ears, he’d toss it in the hearth. But at that moment, there were far more pressing matters at hand. Kael turned to watch the spells flashing in the distance …

And he
did
forget.

Kael tried to spend the rest of the day working out some sort of plan to convince the wildmen to fight, but it was difficult. Baird’s voice rang inside his head every few moments:
words are powerful and dangerous things
…
all those who read are searching — they seek to fill the empty portions of their souls
.

It was annoying, at first. It seemed as if every time he took a step in the right direction, those words pulled him back. They grated against his ears with such obnoxious force that it drove him to grind his teeth. But though he tried to shove them aside, he couldn’t.

And it wasn’t long before he began to listen.

There had to be a reason his mind kept coming back to what Baird had said. There was a message inside the words he was missing, a loose thread he had to follow. Kael found the thought’s end and gave it a sharp tug. He traced its path through a tangle of muddle pictures until he finally stopped at Griffith.

It was a memory of the day the wildmen arrived at the Earl’s old castle — the day he’d passed his favorite book onto Griffith. He remembered how his had been lost between the pages of the
Atlas of the Adventurer
, how he’d hardly seemed able to put it down. Now Kael realized that Griffith had read so intently because he’d been searching for something — searching for the answer to the question in his heart:

How will I know which paths to take
?
How will I know what’s best for my people
?

Those were the questions he’d asked in the moment before Kael handed him the
Atlas
. Those were the worries that plagued him, the answer he searched for. But the stories Griffith had read seemed to calm him. It made Kael wonder if perhaps Baird had been wrong.