Hidden Warrior (47 page)

Arkoniel pulled back a little, trying to make out her face. “Your goddess brought you back today, just when I most needed you?”

When she said nothing, he guessed she’d been back for some time. Before he could press the matter, however, she surprised him by shoving him back on the bed and kissing him hungrily. Fire shot through his belly as she climbed on top of him, lifting her skirt and fumbling at the front of his tunic. He felt rough wool against his belly, then warm skin. It was the first time she’d ever offered sex inside the keep and she was as desperate for it as he was. Holding his hands against her breasts, she rode him wildly, then lurched forward to smother their cries as they came. Lightning flashed behind Arkoniel’s closed eyelids as he thrashed and moaned under her, then the world exploded into red light.

When his mind cleared, she was lying beside him, cupping his balls in one hot, wet hand.

“Your pack is too small for the journey,” she murmured.

“It was full enough until you emptied it for me,” he
chuckled, thinking it some joking slight against his manhood.

She rose on one elbow and traced his lips with one finger. “No, your traveling pack. You’ll be no good to Tobin dead. You must go with the others and stay away.”

“But you’re here now! You could take them to your oak and hide them there.”

“Too many, and too many strangers coming, perhaps with wizards who have enough sight to see through my magic.”

“But I want to see the boys again. Teach me how you hid yourself for so long!” He grasped her hand and kissed her rough palm. “Please, Lhel. I ask in the name of the Mother—”

Lhel snatched her hand away and slid off the bed. He couldn’t see her face as she pulled her clothes back into place, but he could feel her anger.

“What is it? What did I say?”

“You have no right!” she hissed. She crossed the room to retrieve her discarded shawl and the moonlight fell across her face, turning it into an ugly mask. The pallid light filled every crease and wrinkle with shadow and robbed her hair of color. The symbols of power blazed on her face and breasts, stark as ink on alabaster. The lover of a moment ago stood before him as he’d never seen her before—a vengeful hag.

Arkoniel shrank back; this was the side of her Iya had tried so often to warn him of. Before he could stop himself, he’d raised a hand in a warding sign against her.

Lhel froze, eyes lost in shadowed sockets, but the harsh mask softened to sorrow. “Against me you make that sign?” She came back to the bed and sat down. “You must never call on my goddess. She does not forgive what your people and your Orëska did to us.”

“Then why did she have you help us at all?”

Lhel passed her hands over her face, smoothing away the symbols from her skin. “It is the will of the Mother that
I helped you, and Her will that I stayed to care for the unquiet spirit we made that night. All those long lonely days I pondered the mystery of that. And then, when you came to me and were willing to become my pupil—” She sighed. “If the Mother did not favor it, you would not have learned so much from me, so easily.” She took his hand and her fingers found the shiny stump of his severed finger. “You cannot make a baby for me with your seed, but your magic and mine made something new. Perhaps one day, our people will create more together, but we still follow different gods. Your Illior is not my Mother, no matter how you try to tell yourself it is so. Be true to your own gods, my friend, and have a care not to offend those of others.”

“I meant no—”

She brushed his mouth with cold fingertips. “No, you meant to sway me by invoking Her name. Don’t ever do that again. As for the other wizards here, they won’t be pleased to see me. You recall our first meeting? Your fear and repugnance, and how you called me little trickster’ in your mind?”

Arkoniel nodded, ashamed. He and Iya had treated Lhel like some lowly tradesman, offering no respect even after she’d done all they’d asked.

“I will not win them as I did you.” Lhel ran a finger playfully down his belly to the thatch of hair below. “Just see to it that the strong ones don’t attack me.” She pulled back a little, looking hard into his eyes. “For their sake, yes?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “I wonder what Tobin and Ki will think, not finding-me here?”

“They’re smart boys. They’ll guess.” She thought a moment. “Leave that mind clouder.”

“Eyoli?”

“Yes. He’s very clever, and can keep himself unnoticed. Who will think twice about a stableboy? If Tobin needs us, he can send word.” She stood again. “Look for me along the road tomorrow. Bring as many supplies as you can carry. And more clothes. You will listen to me,
won’t you, and stay away? There’s nothing to be gained by going back.”

Before he could answer she was gone, fading into the darkness as swiftly as a ghost. Perhaps one day she would teach him that trick, too.

There was no hope of sleep now. Going down to the kitchen yard, he checked the supplies in the wagon again, counting blankets, coils of rope, and sacks of flour, salt, and apples. Thank the Light the king had appointed no steward or Royal Protector here. Wandering through the yards, he gathered every tool he could find—handsaws, hammers, two rusted axes left behind in the barracks, a small anvil he found at the back of the farriers’ shop. He felt better, doing something useful, and all the while he felt the growing conviction that a corner of some sort had been turned. After years of wandering with Iya, here he was with a handful of fugitive wizards and a cart—his new Orëska.

It was a humble beginning, he thought, but a beginning all the same.

T
he stars were fading when Arkoniel and the others set out. Hain drove the children in the cart; the rest rode. Wythnir clung behind Arkoniel’s saddle, his meager bundle wedged between them.

“Where does this road go, Master?” he asked.

“To the mining towns north of here, and finally to the coast, west of the isthmus,” Arkoniel replied. Iron, tin, silver, and lead had drawn Skalan settlers into the mountains centuries earlier. Some of the mines still produced enough to keep people there.

He said nothing of the history Lhel had taught him; how Skalan soldiers—Tobin’s ancestors among them—had used this road to make war against Lhel’s people. The
Retha’noi
had been great raiders and warriors, but their magic had been even stronger and more feared. Those who’d survived had been branded necromancers and driven deep into the mountains. They were no longer hunted; but they remained exiles, driven from the fertile coastal lands that had been theirs. When Arkoniel and Iya ventured into the mountains in search of a witch, they’d felt the sullen animosity that still smoldered in the hearts of that small, dark race.

He’d done as Lhel asked, told them nothing of her, only that they were to meet a guide who would lead them to safety. They came upon her just after dawn. She stood waiting atop a boulder by the road.

The others reined in sharply. Malkanus reached into his pouch, readying some magic against her, but Arkoniel rode between them.

“No, wait. Don’t!” he said. “This is our guide.”

“This?” Malkanus exclaimed. “A filthy hill witch?”

Lhel folded her arms and scowled down at him.

“This is Lhel, an honored friend well-known to me and to Iya. I expect you all to treat her as such. Illior brought her to us years ago. She shares the vision.”

“Iya approves of this?” asked Lyan, who was old enough to remember the raids.

“Of course. Please, my friends, Lhel has offered her help, and we need it. I can vouch for her goodwill.”

D
espite Arkoniel’s assurances, tensions remained high on both sides. Lhel rode grudgingly on the cart beside Hain, who leaned away, avoiding her touch as if she had the Red and Black Death.

They reached the first pass that day and toiled up through the steep valley beyond as the air grew colder and snow crept down the sides of the peaks to edge the road. The trees were sparse and stunted, leaving them at the mercy of the wind. Wolves howled nearby at night, and several times they heard the screech of catamounts echoing between the peaks.

The children slept together under blankets in the back of the cart while the older wizards tended the fires and kept watch. Totmus’ cough grew worse. Huddled among the others, he coughed and dozed but could not rest. Under the suspicious stares of the Orëska wizards, Lhel brewed a tea for him and gently coaxed it into him. The child brought up alarming gobbets of green phlegm and seemed the better for it. By the third night he was laughing with the others again.

The wizards remained wary, but the children were more easily won over. During the long, weary hours in the cart, Lhel told them stories in her broken Skalan and showed them pretty little spells. When they stopped each night she disappeared into the darkness, returning with mushrooms and herbs for the stewpot.

*     *     *

T
he third day they descended along the edge of a gorge, and the forest rose up to meet them again. Hundreds of feet below, a blue-green river tumbled between the echoing walls. Just beyond the ruins of an abandoned village, they turned west along a tributary stream and followed it into a small, densely wooded valley.

There was no road. Lhel led them along the riverbank, and into towering hemlock. Soon the forest was too dense to take the cart any farther, and she led them on foot along a smaller brook to an overgrown clearing among the trees.

There had been a village here, but not one built by Skalan hands. Small, round roofless stone huts stood along the riverbank, none of them larger than an apple cellar. Many had fallen in and been reclaimed by moss and creepers, but a few were still sound.

A few weathered logs still leaned at disparate angles around the edge of the clearing, marking where a palisade had kept out wolves and catamounts, and perhaps Skalan invaders, as well.

“This good place,” Lhel told them. “Water, wood, and food. But you must build soon.” She pointed up at the sky, which was slowly filling with grey clouds. They could see their breath on the air today. “Snow soon. Little ones must have warm place to sleep, yes?”

She walked to one of the huts and showed them holes drilled in some of the top stones. “For roof poles.”

“Will you stay with us, Mistress?” Danil asked, holding the witch’s hand tight. The day before Lhel had shown him how to call field mice to his knee, something even Arkoniel had not thought the child capable of. The little boy had followed the witch around like a puppy ever since.

“For a time,” Lhel replied, patting his hand. “Maybe learn you more magic?”

“Can I learn, too?” asked Totmus, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve.

“And me!” the twins cried eagerly.

Lhel ignored the glares from the older wizards. “Yes, little ones. All you learn.” She smiled at Arkoniel and he felt another surge of that strange assurance that things were falling into place as they were meant to.

Under Lhel’s direction, the servants made several of the old foundations habitable for the night, building makeshift roofs of saplings and boughs.

Meanwhile, Malkanus, Lyan, and Vornus took Arkoniel aside.

“Is this your Third Orëska?” Malkanus demanded angrily, jerking his thumb at the children tagging along after Lhel. “Are we all going to be necromancers now?”

“You know it’s forbidden,” Vornus warned. “She can’t be allowed to go on teaching them.”

“I know the histories, but I’m telling you, they’re not entirely correct,” Arkoniel maintained. “I’ve studied for years with this woman, and learned the true roots of her magic. Please, just let me show you, and you’ll see that it’s true. Illior would never have guided us to her if we weren’t meant to learn from her. How can that not be a sign?”

“But the magic we practice is pure!” said Lyan.

“We like to think so, but I’ve seen Aurënfaie shake their heads at some of our work. And remember, our magic is no less unnatural to our kind than Lhel’s. We had to mix our blood with the ’faie before we had any wizards in the Three Lands. Perhaps it’s time to mingle with a new blood, one native to Skala. The hill folk were here long before our ancestors arrived.”

“Yes, and they killed hundreds of our people,” Malkanus snapped.

Arkoniel shrugged. “They fought off the invaders. Would any of us have done differently? I believe that we’re meant to make peace with them now, somehow. But for now, believe me when I say that we need Lhel’s help, her kind of magic. Talk with her. Listen with an open heart to what she tells you, as I have. She has great power.”

“I can feel that,” muttered Cerana. “That’s what troubles me.”

D
espite Arkoniel’s assurances, the others went away shaking their heads.

Lhel came to him, and said, “Come, I’ll teach you something new.” Walking back to the wagon, she searched through the baggage and pulled out a copper basin, then set off along the stream, leading him deeper into the forest. The ground was steep here, and the banks tiered with mossy ledges and shaggy frost-burned clumps of fern and caneberry. Thick stands of cattail rushes waved at the water’s edge. She pulled up one and peeled the fleshy white root. It was fibrous and dry so late in the year, but still edible.

“There’s plenty to eat here,” Lhel said, as they moved on. Pausing again, she plucked a large yellow mushroom from a rotting tree trunk and offered him a bite. “You must hunt before the snow comes, and smoke the meat. And collect wood. I don’t know if all the children will see springtime. Totmus won’t, I think.”

“But you healed him!” Arkoniel cried, dismayed. He’d already grown found of the boy.

Lhel shrugged. “I did what I could for him, but the sickness is deep in his lungs. It will come back.” She paused again. “I know what they said about me. You spoke for me, and I thank you, but the older ones are right. You don’t know the depth of my power.”

“Will I ever?”

“Pray you don’t, my friend. But now I’ll show you something new, but only you. Give me your word you’ll keep this to yourself.”

“By my hands, heart, and eyes, you have it.”

“All right then. We begin.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, Lhel let out a harsh, bleating call, then listened. Arkoniel heard nothing but the wind in the trees and the gurgling of the stream.