Duty (Book 2) (33 page)

“What would we do?”

“At that point we would build a cabin and really hope we liked roots, leaves, and each other. This is a good spot for a little hut, don’t you think?”

Gen turned to see what effect his quip had on his companion and wished he hadn’t. Her smile and the affection in her eyes set his heart to pounding.

“What is it?” she asked, noticing a change in his mood.

“You’re too beautiful for your own good. Seeing a face like yours would make a man think all his dumb jokes were funny.”

“It wasn’t a dumb joke.”

“Yes it was.”

“Do you think I’m just flattering you?”

“No, you’re just . . . inexperienced . . . in matters of humor.”

Her hands found their way back to her hips. “Oh, is that so?”

“Sure,” said Gen. “The only men you’ve known have been soldiers. Soldiers are notorious for their unrefined senses of humor. They think getting drunk and falling off a horse is hilarious. So how could you have learned?”

“So you’ve thought about this quite a bit, then?”

Gen shrugged. “Now, don’t get so upset. It’s not your fault that you wouldn’t know humor even if it were as close to you as, say, that snake is to your boot.”

The Chalaine yelped and jumped backward, eyes darting around on the ground. Gen smiled, and the Chalaine picked up a rock the size of her fist and threw it at him. Gen narrowly dodged it.

“Hey!” he protested, laughing. “You could have hurt me!”

“I would have healed you later. Much later. But if the scholar of humor is quite done with his adolescent little tricks, perhaps he could humor up a way across the river?”

She crossed her arms, but the smile in her eyes betrayed the angry look on her face.

Gen bowed low. “My apologies, Milady. To get to the other side I’ll need to find some trees taller than these here. I remember some behind us a ways. If we can get two that are long enough, we should have a wide enough bridge to walk across.”

The rest of the morning, Gen labored to find, cut down, and clear two straight pine trees. Aldradan Mikmir’s sword made easy work of the cutting, but dragging them and hoisting them upright so he could topple them over the river exhausted him. As the second one fell across the rushing water, his vision blurred and he stumbled; four days without sleep were finally taking their toll.

“Are you all right, Gen?” the Chalaine asked, grabbing his arm.

“I just need to rest for a moment.”

“You need to sleep,” she scolded. “You haven’t slept at all, have you?”

“I need to watch. No telling what is out here. I’ll be fine till we get out of this canyon. I’ll sleep when someone I trust is watching after you.”

“You’ll sleep tonight. You said yourself that nothing is down here.”

He looked her in the eye.“I will not.”

“You will. You’ll be no good to me if you can’t walk or see straight.”

“You can’t make me sleep.”

The Chalaine grinned in a knowing way and said nothing. Gen wondered what it meant. After resting for several minutes and splashing cold river water on his face, he felt better. Holding the Chalaine’s hand, she and Gen walked slowly over the swift, noisy water. The thin tree trunks bent as they crossed the middle, and the Chalaine nearly lost her balance, but with a steadying hand from Gen and a quick scamper at the end, they jumped to the ground safe and dry.

“I’ll make a Maewen of you yet,” Gen commented as they negotiated a rocky decline dotted with shrubs and loose gravel.

“I’m sure you would like to have her around instead of me by now, though Fenna would no doubt be furious if you spent this much time alone with Maewen.”

“She seems quite jealous of Maewen. I don’t see why.”

The Chalaine laughed. “Oh, don’t be so coy. You know why.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Maewen’s beautiful. She’s a warrior. Whether you like to admit it or not, you and Maewen have a lot in common. You’re both brave to the point of being reckless—or reckless to the point of seeming brave—and neither one of you seems to do well with authority. You both speak languages almost no one else understands. Both of you think you’re right all the time.”

“We do not,” Gen disagreed.

“Yes you do! Name one time since you came into my service that you’ve honestly said ‘I was wrong’ to anyone.”

“Name one time when I have been wrong.”

“All right. When you said you weren’t sleeping tonight, you were wrong. When you and Maewen attacked an entire Uyumaak company by yourselves, that was wrong—and stupid. When you were injured in said attack and didn’t accept Fenna’s offer to help you, instead choosing to let Maewen assist you, that was wrong, so very wrong.”

“I think you’ve strayed from the main point. Fenna. Maewen. Jealousy.”

“Yes, well, a minor digression was in order to prove you, well, wrong. Anyway, the point is that Maewen intimidates Fenna. Fenna can’t see how you could find her more interesting than Maewen. It might not bother Fenna that much if it didn’t seem like Maewen had feelings for you.”

Gen shot her a disbelieving look. “Maewen does not have feelings for me, for pity’s sake. I don’t think she has feelings for anyone, especially anyone human.”

“Hmm. I think you may be missing something. Just a few nights ago my mother said to me, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen Maewen smile, but Gen seems to have the knack of bringing one to her face.’ Fenna said much the same.”

“I thought we just established that I was the ‘scholar of humor’ a little while back. Bringing a smile to Maewen’s face is only further evidence of my skill.”

“There you go again," the Chalaine said, "joking around to avoid facing something you find uncomfortable.”

“What do you want me to say? That I agree with you? Well, I don’t. I think Fenna’s jealousy of Maewen is unfounded. Maewen and I have a . . . professional understanding . . . because we are both charged with keeping the caravan safe. That is all. If Maewen were a big, ugly woodsman with a mustache that smelled like week-old boar meat, then nobody would care whether I made him smile or not. This is all just because Maewen is a beautiful woman.”

“Nice reasoning, Gen,” the Chalaine returned sarcastically. “Women don’t typically see big, ugly, stinky woodsmen with boar-greased facial hair as competition for men they’re trying to woo. Though I suppose your attraction to uncouth woodsmen would explain why you find it so easy to resist me unveiled.”

Gen couldn’t help but chuckle. “I will concede that I can see why Fenna sees Maewen as competition, but what I am saying is that she isn’t.” He supposed it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring up Maewen’s offer to have Gen run away with her after Chertanne dismissed him.

“Fair enough, but just remember what you learned today about being wrong so that it won’t come as such a shock next time.”

Drying sweat made the Chalaine’s skin feel sticky as the day waned. The hike stretched her endurance to the limit. The river descended through the canyon by way of washing over a number of small drops that forced them to scrabble down steep rock faces, often wet, to get to the next walkable shore. In several difficult places, Gen took time to clear brush to ease her passage. In the back of her mind the Chalaine knew that if the she sprained her ankle or broke her leg, the journey would take weeks.

When they stopped for a rest in the late afternoon, she watched Gen fight to keep from dozing, splashing water on his face and stretching his muscles to resist the temptation to sit and close his eyes for a few moments. Only the river droned on beside them. Even the birds didn’t sing, and they hadn’t spoken for nearly an hour. A tangible weariness, not of body, but of soul, wore upon her, though she couldn’t explain why.

After eating more roots and leaves, they started off again. The shore took them over a long boulder fall requiring them to jump from rock to rock to go forward, and by the time they came to the end of it, the shadows in the canyon had deepened at the approach of evening. Just ahead was another waterfall to traverse, and they went forward to see how difficult it would prove and whether or not they would attempt it before night fell.

To her delight, the waterfall, some twenty feet high, fell into a wide pool surrounded by cedar and pine, and on the other side they could make out a series of small gazebos, crafted from a pale stone lining the water. These were set upon an expansive flooring of interlocking stone so tightly fit that roots and weeds found no entrance into the cracks. A short distance beyond the pool, the river fell through a deep fall in a tight gap of the canyon. In the failing light, they could make out the entryway to an underground cave bored out of the canyon itself, descending into darkness.

“It is beautiful!” the Chalaine remarked, eyes wide. “Should we try to reach it before dark?”

“No,” Gen answered. “This is ancient work, though it has weathered unusually well. Almost anything might be in that cave. Bears, Uyumaak, or worse. We’ll stay up here tonight. If there is anything inside there, it won’t be able to get to us as easily up here. Let’s find a place to light a fire and spend the night.”

They worked together to drag driftwood from the river’s edge to a shallow overhang in the cliff near the waterfall. Exhausted, the Chalaine took one last look at the blue pool below her as Gen worked to light the fire, spinning a stick between his hands to ignite fragile tinder. Her muscles and feet hurt, and whether Gen liked to admit it or not, his every move betrayed his weariness. At length, the flames flickered happily, their welcome heat comforting sore muscles. She waited for him sit down before returning to his side.

While he searched the pack for the roots they had gathered earlier, she inspected his arms. The day’s rough hike had ripped his shirt in several places, revealing numerous scrapes, bruises and cuts. He took no notice of them, but she reached out to heal him.

“Save your strength,” Gen said. “These are nothing.”

“Then hush. Little strength will be required.” She touched his arm, but before she could close her eyes and expend any effort, the wounds healed instantly. In surprise, she withdrew her hand and trembled. Frantically, she turned away, digging out her veil from her pocket and securing it over her head. Silently, she shed tears of joy and bitterness.

Gen turned and handed her a root. “Thank you for the healing, though it was unnecessary. And you’re wearing your veil! You realized I was right about that after all, then?”

The Chalaine nodded and chewed on the root slowly to gain time to compose her voice. “The gazebos . . . I thought . . . well, we might find someone or something here. Perhaps Maewen knows this place and how to get here.”

“Good thinking,” Gen complimented her. “Are you hurt anywhere? I did find some herbs that might help with minor cuts a couple of days ago.”

“I am well.”

“I have a hard time believing you got through the whole day without so much as a scratch. But,” he said, examining at the flesh on her arms exposed by ripped sleeves, “I can’t find a mark on you! You’re better in the wild than I thought.”

“I’m afraid not,” the Chalaine returned, trying to keep the heartache out of her voice. “Two Chalaines ago, we acquired the gift of immediately healing superficial wounds that might mar our physical appearance. As soon as I get a scrape, a blister, or sunburn, it is healed.”

“Very handy,” Gen commented, running his hands through his hair to dislodge small bits of detritus it had collected during the day. “I could have used that during my training with Torbrand. All my scars must have seemed horrifying to you when you first met me. Was the first time you saw me in the Great Hall, or did you see me at the Trials with your Walls? I was quite a sight then. Just ask Fenna.”

The Chalaine lifted her veil. “Gen?”

“Yes?”

“It’s time for you to sleep now.” The Chalaine leaned close to him, and running through the incantation in her mind, breathed softly on his startled face. At once his eyes closed and he collapsed. She caught him as he fell. Leaning back against the canyon wall, she cradled him. She knew he loved her now. She had wanted his love so badly, and now that she had it, she cursed herself for letting it happen. Shadan Khairn had wounded his body and she his heart. She had tortured him just as cruelly as his swordmaster, and she had yet to deliver the most painful cut of all—to undo it all.

She removed her veil and wept quietly. Like her mother, she longed for Gen’s love while feeling guilty for even wanting it. She suspected his attachment at the waterfall when she healed him without knowing, and now that she had confirmation, the guilt crushed her. Not only had she hurt him, but in her heart she was unfaithful to Chertanne, risking ruination of the prophecy and the world.