Wintertide (20 page)

It completed the circle of the island and now faced north, again. Egan tested the balance of the daggers in his hands.

“Druke, I’m going after it.” He spoke through his teeth, obviously no longer able to bear the tension of being stalked by the hulking form.

“No.” Khamsin took her hand from the hilt of her sword and lay it against Egan’s forearm. “It’s going away.”

The uneasy feeling that had been with her since they entered the marsh faded. As it did, so did the demon. It took a few steps backwards then dissolved before their widening eyes into the murk below its feet.

“Son of a Nijanian bitch!” Skeely’s words came out in a hoarse rush and he turned to Wade. But the other man had already dropped to his knees and was vomiting his supper over the edge of the island.

“You know, Druke, I think I would’ve preferred to face the Fav’lhir in the forest, rather than that.” Egan moved away from where Skeely bent over his suffering sibling.

“I won’t argue that point with you, Master Egan.” Druke glanced at Khamsin. “You’re made of solid stuff, lad. Help me with the horses, will you? Don’t think any one us are in the mind to spend the night here now. Think we’d best just keep on riding.”

They rode into the darkness, the sound of the horses’s hooves crisp on the frozen ground. They rode faster than was called for, pushing their steeds as if every moment they could put between themselves and the demon was another day added to their lives. Overhead, the moons bathed them in a sickly light. It was as if all the marshland suffered from their encounter.

At daybreak they were on the shore of the Khal. Khamsin looked out over waters that glistened like polished onyx. There, perhaps a few miles away, was her destination. The castle of the Sorcerer. The rising sun in the east played across the expanse. She could’ve sworn, in the glimmerings, she saw the towers of the fortress rising, crested with snow. No banners would unfurl from its parapets. No such decorations were necessary. There was only one castle carved from the very heart of the mountains jutting out into the lake of eternal night: Traakhal-Armin. She could feel the pulsations of power even at this great distance.

At Egan’s signal, they reined their horses and made temporary camp for breakfast. Khamsin spoke the first words uttered since they departed the small island.

“How did you know the demon was Lady Melande’s?”

Druke looked up from the fire he tended, a thoughtful expression on his round face. “First, because it was a Varl. One of Melande’s favorites, as I hear tell. But second, because it made as if to attack us. The Sorcerer would never send a demon out after his own. Lest we’d displeased him in some fashion,” he added after a moment.

“You’re sure?” Skeely didn’t seem convinced.

“You’ve not been to Traakhal, as I have.” Druke sat back on his haunches and studied the young man. “Ask your uncle. He’s been there as well as I, though not as often.”

Dena’s sons turned towards Egan.

“It’s true.” The chestnut-haired man pulled a small loaf of bread from his pack. He handed it to Skeely, who speared it onto a thin branch. “Druke first brought me to Traakhal after I was named Kemmon Rey. I spoke with Master Tedmond, Lord Chamberlain of Traakhal. He instructed me on the duties for Kemmon-Ro and what was expected of us. He also told me what to expect from the Master of Traakhal.”

“And what was that?” Khamsin’s curiosity about the Sorcerer overrode her self-imposed reticence.

“Protection from foes. Instruction when necessary. Retaliation and vindication from wrongs.” Egan repeated the words as if he’d memorized them.

“Says nothing in there ’bout demons,” Wade replied glumly.

Egan only glared at the young man. He pulled the dagger strapped to his thigh from its sheath, then retrieved a small flat stone from his vest pocket.

“And what’s ‘Kemmon Rey?’” Khamsin asked as Egan worked carefully on the short blade.

This time it was Wade’s turn to cast a disparaging glance. “Don’t teach you much in Tynder’s Hill, do they? Kemmon Rey is the Kemmon leader.” And with that he turned his attention to the piece of bread Skeely had just handed him, warmed from the fire. He bit into it hungrily, his appetite returning now that the demon was only a bad memory of the previous night.

“But maybe the demon, this Varl, escaped,” Skeely said.

“From Traakhal? Not likely,” Druke answered. “Nothin’ gets into the castle that isn’t supposed to be there. And nothin’ that’s meant to stay, gets out.”

“But if that demon was Lady Melande’s and if the Master was keeping it…”

“Captured it,” Druke corrected, “so that Lady Melande couldn’t use it.”

“Then why keep it? Why not kill it?” Skeeley pressed. “Isn’t the Master powerful enough?”

“Powerful enough?” Druke snorted. “Lad, he could reduce you to ashes with a mere glance. But these demons,” and he waved one hand aimlessly in the air, “they’re ensorcelled. You don’t kill them things. You just…”

“Send them back to the nearest available hell,” Khamsin said softly.

Druke heard her. “Aye, that’s about the size of it. And only a Wizard or a Witch can do that. Or the Sorcerer. Which is why I know the Varl didn’t come from Traakhal’s dungeons.”

“Why would Lady Melande send a demon so close to Traakhal?” Khamsin didn’t want to believe that Melande’s monster was looking for her. For if it was, she had more than just the Sorcerer to fear.

“That Witch and the Master have been at odds for some time,” Druke said. “Surely you’ve heard that, even in Tynder’s?”

Khamsin hesitated. She wasn’t sure how much she could admit. But she also knew she had much to learn. She shrugged. “I’ve heard lots of stories. But I didn’t pay much attention to what people say. I mean, witches and wizards aren’t things you worry about every day.”

Egan put down the dagger he’d been sharpening. “You do when you’re Kemmon-Ro.”

“It’s over the Orb, isn’t it?” Wade asked his uncle.

Egan nodded. “Melande and Lucial both want it. But there are spells protecting it. Keeping it safe. Just as it’s our job to keep these forests safe.”

He rose, sheathed his dagger. “So we’d best be at it, lads.”

No more was said. Within minutes they were back on the road, cloaks and outer-tunics drawn tightly around them. Winter had finally arrived. Khamsin felt Nixa’s reassuring warmth against her legs and thought of the times the cat had snuggled against her as they’d sat in the crook of one of the great trees surrounding Bronya’s cave.

Cirrus Cove, and Summertide, suddenly seemed very far away, indeed.

Finally, they turned and headed north, back towards the forest. They made an early camp at the first thick pine grove they encountered, having had no sleep at all the night before. Supper was light, the better to sleep on. Then with Wade volunteering to take first watch, they settled in for the night.

Khamsin awoke a few hours before dawn. Egan nodded before the glow of the embers, his beard fuller than it was when she met him in his sister’s village of Pinetrail. She was afraid of him then, seeing only a Hill Raider. Now she saw Egan as a man; a good friend to Druke and the boys, and good father. In many ways, not unlike Tavis.

She appraised the strong profile. He was also a handsome man, his features more even than Tavis’s. But he wasn’t as handsome as Rylan. Nor did he have the Tinker’s sharp mind or quick wit.

She was comfortable with Egan. But Rylan had the ability to fascinate her. He had depths she knew she could spends years exploring. He would never tire of her questions and seemed to know just how to open her mind to the answers.

And her heart. Abruptly she halted her thoughts.

She could no longer focus on Rylan, but on her other losses. That of her husband and friends. For as long as she lived, she’d never forget the sight of Tavis’s lifeless body hanging from the tree. Nor the bodies of Rina’s children by the hearth. An anger burned inside her. And it was anger that fed her determination to reach Traakhal-Armin.

No other emotion was of use to her. She’d learned that much in Noviiya.

Egan turned his head, his gaze meeting hers through the gray light of morning. He motioned with his hand.

“Had enough sleep, lad?”

It took Khamsin a moment to realize the Kemmon-Rey was speaking to her. “For now. A soft bed would’ve helped, though.”

Egan chuckled. “Can’t argue with you there, as Druke would say.”

“You’ve been friends long?”

“Eleven years. Ever since I married his sister.”

Khamsin tried to envision Elsy’s mother from Druke’s plump features but failed. “How long were you married?”

“Little less than two years. Elsy was born that first year. The following year, Maryse died giving birth to our son.”

Khamsin could hear no pain in his words and assumed time had healed the wounds.

“When did you become Kemmon Rey?”

“When Maryse’s father died, six months after Elsy was born.”

She made a quick mental calculation. “You were young…”

“Probably younger than you think, Camron. I’d just turned twenty.”

“Is that unusual?”

“To be chosen to lead a Kemmon? A bit. But I’d ridden with the Kemmon since I was younger than that. I knew the forests. I certainly knew how to fight. And after the Fav’lhir raid, there weren’t many men to choose from. We lost more than Agard, my father-in-law. All that was left were the women, the farmers and the boys.”

“So your family wasn’t Kemmon?”

“My father was a grain farmer. There was just Dena and I and ten years difference between us. When she married I let her and her husband take my share of the farm. I’ve never had the feel of the land that my father did. Guess your uncle Aric felt the same way,” he added.

Khamsin thought of Rina’s Aric, a Coveman, a fisherman. “No,” she said truthfully. “He never did care much for the land, either.”

“And you, Camron. What do you seek, lad? Adventure? Riches? A willing wife and a warm hearth?”

“Knowledge,” she said, staring at the fading embers. “Experience and answers.” And that, she knew, was also the truth.

“We’ll be back into Darkling before noontime.” Egan rubbed his hands together, feeling stiff from the cold. “But we won’t be continuing north from there. Wintertide approaches. Once I meet with the Nests at the foothills of the Nijanas, we’ll be heading back to Pinetrail. You think your uncle’s out here, somewhere?”

Khamsin nodded. “Though maybe not with any Kemmon, since you say you’ve never heard of him. Perhaps with the Khalar?” If Egan could pass her on to the Sorcerer’s tribe with his recommendations, it would make her mission easier. It was beginning to sound more and more difficult to gain access to the castle.

“Not an Inlander, I doubt it. Though I’ve nothing against your uncle,” he said quickly. “It’s just that they don’t recruit from outside. Inlanders join up with the Kemmons, if they make it this far.

“Lad, I hate to think of you wandering ’round in the wilds here not familiar with the Land and all. ’Tis not a place for a solitary traveler.”

“So I’ve heard from many,” she acknowledged, wryly admitting to herself that her traveling companions were the very ones she was warned away from.

“Aye, well of late there’s been more than the usual trouble with the Fav’lhir. And now with Lady Melande and her pets.” Egan’s brows furrowed at his own thoughts. “I could take you myself to Kemmon-Nijar. Perhaps there?”

“I’ve no wish to trouble you, Master Egan.”

“’Tis no trouble. Been a time since I’ve spoken to Radclough or old Gilane. Druke’s well skilled in watching after the boys. Besides, ’tis pretty country and you might like to see it, different as it is from your home.”

“I’ll take each day as it comes,” Khamsin replied, touched by the concern in Egan’s voice. “A friend once told me that was the best way to proceed.”

“You must keep wise company.” He stood up and stretched. “Still, don’t refuse my offer just yet. I’d be glad to help to you in findin’ your uncle.”

He eyed the finely-featured lad before him. “You wouldn’t happen to have an older sister, a pretty one, back at Tynder’s, would you? Someone I could share a cup of tea with, if I happen to travel that way? With news of you and your uncle, of course.”

Khamsin suppressed a smile. “I’m told I have a cousin in one of the Covetowns. A young widow.”

Egan shook his head. “Don’t think I’d get much of a warm welcome riding east. The Fav’lhir have tainted all Hill people’s names with their actions. Still,” and he considered something for a moment.

“Would you be up for a ride now, Camron? We can cover some distance while these sleepyheads break camp.”

“I would, yes!” Khamsin saddled Cinnabar while Egan woke Druke and informed him of their plans. They were to meet again at the Nest.

They set off with the sunrise at their backs, the cold air feeling suddenly crisp and refreshing. The sky cleared and the sunlight promised warmth later in the day. Khamsin secured Nixa against her and dug her heels into her horse’s side, answering Egan’s challenge for a race.

For an unimpressive-looking brown animal, Cinnabar kept pace with Egan’s Hill-bred black stallion with ease. Even the Kemmon Rey looked at the horse with more respect when they stopped near a small stream and allowed the horses to drink. But it wasn’t only Cinnabar that caught his attention.

“You surprise me, Camron,” he said after he dismounted.

Khamsin had been watching Nixa stalk through the underbrush. She turned. “Sirrah?”

“You play the timid lad very well, when it suits you. Like in Dena’s yard with my daughter. But there’s more to you than that.”

She’d known the gray-eyed man for almost five days. Did he see through her deceptions? Ciro clipped her hair short, shorter than the Tinker had. And she kept her form cloaked in a heavy outer-tunic and concentrated on lowering her voice when she spoke. No one else, not Druke nor Skeely nor Wade, gave the slightest inclination they suspected she was anything other than a slightly-built fourteen-year old farm boy. But since this morning she was aware of Egan studying her. And his comments back at the camp, about a sister. Was there some feminine mannerism Egan saw, perhaps because he had a daughter?