Part 10 (1/2)

Dain's throat closed in sudden grief. He thought of how he'd returned from his errand three days, no, four past, and found the tree burrow ablaze. The forge was already gone, charred to ashes. Jorb's body was a blackened, twisted thing, hacked and broken by the axe that had felled him, so broken he couldn'tcrawl away from the fire that had burned him alive along with his home. Jorb had always been a force in Dain's life, a short, surly, gruff-voiced taskmaster who liked his pipe in the evenings and who would sit watching the stars contentedly, humming along in his ba.s.so voice while Thia sang and Dain played accompaniment on a lute. Jorb liked his ale and his food; he was nearly as wide as he was tall. He was hot-tempered and impatient, yet he took infinite pains with the swords he crafted, turning each blade into a thing of rare beauty. And when the steady tap-tap-tap of his hammering was done, he would hone and polish, humming to the steel as though to bring it to life. His craggy face would light up and he would smile as he spoke the final words over each creation: ”Kreith 'ng kdag 'vn halh.”-”This sword is made.”

He had taught Dain metals. He had taught Dain his skills but never his artistry. Some days as they worked together in the hot forge, Jorb would sweat and hum without uttering a single word. Other days he would talk endlessly on a variety of subjects, giving Dain the teaching, as he called it. He was father, teacher, taskmaster, friend. Behind the gruffness and stern air of authority he was kind and good, with a fondness for riddles and a love of song. And now he was dead, dead because of Dain. There was no getting past the guilt or the grief. Each time Dain pushed it out of his mind, the memories came flooding back. He could smell the sickening stench of burned flesh, the smoky stink of charred cloth. He could feel Jorb's st.u.r.dy shoulder cupped in his hand, how stiff and wrong it felt. He had dug a grave and spoken the words of pa.s.sing in the dwarf tongue. He had sprinkled salt over the freshly turned soil and crossed the ash twigs there, but his rites were not enough to cleanse what he'd done or to absolve him of blame.

He frowned, swallowing hard, and found his voice gone. He could not answer Lord Odfrey's simple question. All he could do was glance up, his eyes suddenly br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears, and nod his head.

Regret softened the chevard's face. Looking down at Dain from atop his horse, he said softly, ”Dead?”

Again Dain nodded. A sob heaved in his chest, but he would not utter it. His grief was not to be shared with men. It was a private thing. His shame, he would battle alone.

But not just yet.

Mastering himself, he swallowed and struggled to speak. ”Please, lord,” he said in a choked voice. ”I thank you for saving me. Would you also show mercy and save my sister as well?”

”What?”

”My sister. She's hurt. We've come as far away as she can. When the Bnen attacked, they put an arrow in her that I cannot-” ”Where is she?”

Hope filled Dain's chest. He pointed at the forest. ”A league away, no more. Not far from where the stag went down. I can show you the spot, lead your men back to it, if you will-” Odfrey's gaze grew hard and intent. ”What know you of the Bnen? How large are their forces?”

”I didn't see them-”

”But there's been talk, surely, in the settlements, and in your friend's burrow. You know Jorb, so you must know members of his family. When did the Bnen attack him? How long ago? Are they moving this way?”

Dain could not answer his rapid-fire questions. His legs felt so numbed by the water he could no longer feel them. Perhaps that was a mercy, for they had stopped aching with fatigue, but he did not feel steady.

In fact, as he took a cautious step forward, he thought his knees might buckle beneath him. His arm,wounded by the arrow Gavril had shot at him earlier and now cut by the whip, throbbed with a pain that hurt all the way up to the backs of his eyes. In truth, he hurt all over. And Thia was a league away, hidden in the forest, hurt and in dire need of help. He did not think she would live much longer if the arrow was not taken out. He had tried last night, and only hurt her more. This man was kind. If Dain could only find a way to reach that kindness on Thia's behalf, he knew he could save her.

He reached out and gripped the man's stirrup with his cold hands. ”Please help her, for you are a kind and just lord. I only tried to take the prince's horse to get Thia food and help. She needs-” With a grunt, Lord Odfrey reached around and untied the cords securing a leather pouch to the back of his saddle. He tossed it at Dain, who caught it clumsily. ”There's food enough to get you home,” Lord Odfrey said. ”A wedge of cheese and some bread. Now be off with you, lad. No harm will come to you on my land.”

”But my sister-”

”There's food enough for her,” Lord Odfrey said, already wheeling his big horse around. ”Get out of this cold water before you freeze to death. I've a prince to escort and my hold to secure in case the Bnen keep coming west.” Dain stared at him in dismay, knowing he had to do or say something that would change the chevard's mind.

”Please!” he called, splas.h.i.+ng clumsily. ”May I go with your huntsman? If I bring her to your hold, will your healer give her aid?”

Lord Odfrey barely glanced back. ”The huntsman will not be going into the Dark Forest this night. Not with Bnen as near as Jorb's forge. Now get out of the water and build yourself a fire to thaw. You'll freeze if you don't.” Dain opened his mouth to call out again, but Lord Odfrey spurred his horse and rode away, splas.h.i.+ng water behind him as he went.

It was dark by the time Dain reached the little burrow where Thia lay hidden. His legs felt leaden, and he was breathing hard. He'd taken no time to build a fire. Running and trotting to keep warm, he'd hoped his clothes would dry on the way. But it was too cold, and they were still damp. The air felt as piercing as needles. When he reached the tiny clearing, he stumbled to a halt at its edge, exhausted but still cautious.

Clutching the food pouch in his arms, he ignored the hollow rumbling in his stomach and focused his attention on the clearing. The forest lay silent and still around him-too still. Dwarf scent came to his nostrils, and he felt the hair on his neck lift. Friendly or hostile, he knew not, but they had been in this clearing within the last hour or so. He drew in an unsteady breath and reached out with his mind: Thia?

Her pain flooded him. Gasping, he broke contact with her, then leaned his shoulder against a tree trunk and drew in several deep, shuddering breaths. He could tell she was worse, much worse. Grief and worry filled him. He had to do something to save her. She was all he had left. He could not bear to lose her too.

He crossed the clearing, finding it heavily trampled and littered with blackened fire stones and small heaps of still-warm ashes where the dwarves had camped. It was a mercy of the G.o.ds that they had not decided to bed here for the night. On the opposite side of the clearing lay an immense log as thick as Dain was tall. Rotting and half-covered with the vines and brush that had grown up around it, the log must have fallen years ago. Fallen leaves drifted deep against it. Dain dug with both hands, scooping dirt aside until he cleared away the shallow layer of soil that covered a lattice of woven twigs. It was perhaps the size of a fighting s.h.i.+eld. Pulling it out of the way, he thrust his head and shoulders into the shallow hole it had covered, and inhaled the damp scent of soil and worms.

”Thia?” he whispered. ”I'm coming. Don't be afraid.” He wriggled through the tunnel, his shoulders sc.r.a.ping the sides and the top of his head b.u.mping from time to time. It was barely large enough for him. If he grew as much this year as he had last year, he would no longer fit. Little trickles of the loamy soil fell into his hair and ears, working down his neck and beneath his tunic of coa.r.s.e-woven linsey.

The tunnel angled up. Dain popped his head up into the hollowed-out center of the huge log. He found Thia lying where he'd left her, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, with leaves packed around her for additional warmth. It was warm and quiet in here. An array of glowstones resting on small niches chiseled into the wooden walls cast a soft, dim, lambent light. The burrow was snug and dry, though cramped for the two of them. It belonged to the Forlo Clan, to be used by travelers on their road to trade with upper Mandria. Spell-locked so that only members of Forlo could see its rune markings outside, the burrow was fitted with the glowstones, the musty old blanket, and a mug and a plate Dain had found spun over by spiders when they'd first sheltered here last night. They could build no fire inside the burrow, of course. It was warm enough this autumn night, provided someone wasn't afflicted with fever or s.h.i.+vering in wet clothes.

Lying still, Thia gave him no greeting. He frowned at her before looking to see if leaves were sprouting or sap had beaded up along the wooden walls. Thia's presence, he knew, should be bringing this great log back to life, but he saw no signs of it. He knelt beside her, breathing in her scent, which was mixed with the wood, leaf, and worm odors of the burrow. He smelled life in her, and relief gripped his heart so hard he squeaked out her name. ”Thia!” he said, gripping her hand. It was clammy and cold. ”I'm home,”

he told her, stroking her long, tangled hair back from her brow. ”I'm here with you.” She moaned, stirring beneath his touch as though even the gentle sweep of his fingers across her brow hurt her.

”I'm back,” he said again. ”And look, look at what I have brought. Food for us.

Good food. Look.”

He dug into the pouch Lord Odfrey had given him, pulling out a generous chunk of cheese, fresh and soft, along with bread made of fine, pale flour and apples newly picked. The food's mingled aromas made his mouth water, and his stomach growled louder than ever.

”Thia, open your eyes and see the wealth of our supper,” he said in excitement.

”This will give you strength. Wake up, dear one, and see our bounty.” She moaned again, turning her head away. Dain tossed the food aside and pulled her into his arms, rocking her against him while she lay limp and unresponsive. Her long hair, usually constantly moving as though stirred by a mysterious wind, fell lank and snarled across his lap.

Pain filled his chest, a pain so deep and sharp he thought he could not breathe.

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he pressed his lips to her temple.

”Live, dear sister,” he pleaded with her. ”Please, please live.”

Once again she stirred. ”Jorb?” she asked in confusion. ”He is not here,” Dain said, tears streaking his face. He did not want her to think about the brutal attack. She had suffered enough. ”Jorb is not here.

Open your eyes, and try to eat. You must regain your strength.” She said something so soft he could not understand it. Cradling her against his knees, he broke off a small bite of the cheese and put it against her slack lips. ”Try, Thia,” he said, his voice shaking now even though he was trying not to sound afraid. ”Please, try.”

She lifted her head, tipping it back against his shoulder so that she could gaze up into his face. She smiled, yet her face looked so ghostly and wan in that dim, glowing light she seemed to already have entered the third world, where spirits dwelled.

”Dain,” she said, her voice a light, insubstantial sigh. She tried to lift her hand to touch his face, but lacked the strength.

He gripped her fingers, willing his strength into her. Sobs shook his frame, and he bowed his head, unashamed of his tears. He had tried so hard to save her. The alternative was impossible, inconceivable, unbearable. ”Dain,” she said again. ”I cannot go on.”

”Don't say that! Don't give up. We're very close to a hold. We can seek help there. They are kind, these men of Mandria. I met one today who gave me the food. He will-”

”I am dying,” she interrupted him.

”No!”

”Dying,” she said. ”Little brother, don't weep so.”

But he could no longer listen. Shaking with grief, he bent over her, holding her tightly in his arms, and gritted his teeth to hold in his cries of anguish. She was all he had. She had been sister and mother to him, his dearest companion. Thia was beautiful, a maiden of slender form and infinite grace. Her blonde hair fell in luxuriant waves to her knees, and in the springtime she liked to wear it unbound with a wreath of flowers upon her brow. Her eyes were pale sky-blue and wise, able to sparkle with teasing merriment or gaze steadily into the depths of someone's heart. When Dain was little, she would rock him to sleep at night, singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of incomplete songs and fragments of rhymes that she said she remembered from the before times. Sometimes, she would spin tales of a fabulous palace that stretched in all directions, a palace as large as the world itself, and filled inside with all the colors of the rainbow. She would weave tales that fired his imagination. She'd defended him from bullies until he'd become big enough to handle himself. She'd taught him manners and honesty and to be gentle with all defenseless creatures. From her, he'd learned woodcraft, how to walk through the forest without disturbing the wild denizens, how to find the pure streams that coursed hidden in thicket-choked gullies, how to tell direction from bark moss and the stars, how to let the wind sing to him, and how to hear what the ancient trees themselves had to say.

He could not imagine a world without her in it. He could not think of a day when she would not be waiting in Jorb's burrow to welcome him and their guardian home, her hair smelling of herbs and her eyes as placid as still water. She had but to sing, and her garden seeds would sprout forth, growing vegetables bursting with intense flavor. She had but to smile and the sun brightened in the sky.

That she should now lie here in this burrow far from home, battered and b.l.o.o.d.y, her slender body racked with pain from the arrow that had brought her down, spoke of great wrong and injustice. It violated all that was true and good in the world. It was a crime that called for punishment and retribution.

”Thia,” he said, moaning her name as he wept over her, ”don't go. We'll find a way. You can hold on just a little longer until I carry you to Thirst Hold.” ”A hold?” she whispered, and this time she found thestrength to smooth back his dark hair from his brow. ”A man-place? You would trust men, little brother?

Has Jorb taught you nothing?”' ”I would indenture myself for a lifetime if it would gain you the help of a healer,” he replied.

She smiled, but her eyes filled with sadness. ”My papa has been a long time coming. I tried to wait. He told me to be good and to wait for him, Dainie, but I'm so tired.”

A sob filled Dain's throat. He clutched her. ”Thia!”