Part 12 (2/2)

It took Gavril's anger a moment to cool. He stared at Thum through narrowed eyes, realizing that this boy had not broken after all. He was still independent, still defiant. Had the map not been truly important to Gavril's plans, he would have ordered Thum thrown out then and there. Instead, he mastered his emotions and forced himself to think over the offer.

”Can you draw?” he asked.

”Yes, your highness.”

”Have you ink or parchment? You cannot write, you said.” ”I can write a little,” Thum replied. ”I can copy whatever is written on the map. You have ink and parchment, there.” He pointed at Gavril's writing desk. ”Bring the map here and copy it,” Gavril said.

Thum looked alarmed. ”I dare not take it from Lord Odfrey's wardroom.” ”He will only beat you,”

Gavril said with a shrug. ”But I have the power to destroy your family.”

”Thod is who my conscience must answer to,” Thum replied, revealing a bedrock faith for the first time.

That alone awakened grudging respect in Gavril. He stared at the other boy for a moment and relented.

”Very well,” he said. ”Take what you need from my desk.” Thum blinked, hesitated, then hurried to the desk and drew forth a sheet of stiff parchment and a pen.

”Take care!” Gavril said sharply enough to make him start. ”And do the task quickly. I want the map in my hands tomorrow.” ”I have duties all morning, and in the afternoon we are to drill with the master-at-arms.”

Impatience filled Gavril. He wanted to choke Thum, or have Sir Los beat the knave for his impudence.

Instead, he gave him a stony look and said, ”Then you will have to copy it tonight.”

”But it's past matins,” Thum said. ”All lights are to be out. I can't-” ”You have little choice. It's easier to enter Lord Odfrey's wardroom now while the chevard is asleep than tomorrow, when you will be missed if you are absent from your duties. And no doubt Lord Odfrey will be going in and out of his wardroom throughout the day-” ”All right!” Thum said. Sweat beaded along his hairline, making his red hair stick out. He drew in a ragged breath and would not meet Gavril's eyes. ”All right. Tonight.”

Gavril handed him a fat candle. ”Work quickly. And make no mistakes. Put it in my hands by noontime.”

Thum looked up briefly, his hazel eyes swirling with a mix of resentment and dislike, then he headed toward the door.

”You need not act like a martyr, Maltie,” Gavril called after him. ”I have offered you my mercy. You should be grateful for a second chance.” Thum paused and glanced back. His freckled face was stony, and not a dram of grat.i.tude could be seen in it. He left without another word, carrying candle, parchment, and pen.

Sir Los closed the door behind him. ”That's one to watch, your highness,” he said gruffly. ”Some of 'em can't be whipped. They've too much spirit for a heavy hand.”

Gavril glared at him. ”And who asked for your opinion?” he said icily. Sir Los shrugged. ”My opinion matters, your highness, when I've got to keep someone's dagger out of your back.”

”Don't be absurd. He would never strike at me.”

Sir Los bowed. ”As your highness says. If you are retiring now, I will bid you a pleasant sleep.”

”Where are you going?” Gavril asked him, still displeased by what he'd said.

”Why are you leaving?”

”Going to watch that boy a while,” Sir Los said, pulling his indigo cloak tighter around his heavy shoulders. ”See if he goes where he's been bid to go.” Gavril frowned.

”Call it my bad feeling,” Sir Los said. ”Call it making sure. Good night, your highness. Someday perhaps you'll learn not to be so cruel with his type.” ”Cruel?” Gavril said in outrage. ”I was putting him in his place. The cardinal taught me how to use all-” Sir Los smiled lopsidedly, clearly unconvinced.

Feeling a qualm of doubt, Gavril frowned. ”You have not permission to question my actions,” he said haughtily. ”Your opinion has not been asked for.” ”No, your highness.”

”Thum du Maltie hasn't the courage to cause me trouble,” Gavril said. ”He's smart enough to know better.”

”Aye, that's right enough,” Sir Los agreed, taking the liberty allowed a protector. He seldom voiced an opinion, unlike his predecessor, who lectured Gavril constantly, but when Sir Los had something to say he was like a dog worrying a bone. He would not leave it. Sir Los looked at Gavril and tapped his thick,oft-broken nose. ”But it might be better to mend your ways a bit and not try everything the cardinal has taught you. There's going to come a day when I do fear your highness will run afoul of someone not smart like Maltie, not smart enough to know he's licked. That's when your highness will find trouble.”

”Then you will have to make sure I don't come to harm,” Gavril said with false sweetness. He smiled at his protector. ”I have no intention of mending my ways.” Dain awakened with a start and sat up inside the burrow. He listened intently, trying to identify the sound that had awakened him.

Nothing.

It was time to go. He stretched hard enough to make his spine crack, then bent over Thia, touching her cold face in farewell. He had performed the rites as best he could, putting salt on her tongue and wrapping her tightly in the threadbare blanket. He left her pendant of bard crystal lying on her breast.

Even in the dim light provided by the glowstones, the faceted sides of the crystal glittered with muted fire.

Her face lay in repose, no longer tormented with pain. Even death could not mar her beauty.

He kissed her cold cheek one last time, his eyes wet and stinging. He hated to leave her, but she was no longer here with him. She had gone into the third world, where her spirit would forever sing.

Wiping his face, Dain forced himself to go.

Emerging from the burrow, he popped his head out of the ground, blowing dirt from his nostrils, and gazed cautiously around. The clearing remained deserted in the cold, gray light of morning. It was raining softly in a light mist that stirred the forest scents of leafy mold, bark, and moss. The forest was silent. Not even a bird chirped. There were no rustles, none of the usual activity among the furred denizens of the woods.

A ripple of unease pa.s.sed through Dain. He pushed his shoulders through the hole and climbed out.

Swiftly, keeping his senses alert, he replaced the lattice and soil over the hole, then covered everything with a layer of golden and russet leaves. He worked methodically to erase all evidence of his recent stay there. When he was satisfied, he scratched out the rune mark of the Forlo Clan and drew another, signifying it was now a burial place.

Fresh tears stung his eyes. Fiercely he pushed himself away from there and melted into the undergrowth, leaving the clearing as fast as his legs would take him. He'd eaten the last of the food, and he needed to hunt if he was to have supper tonight. Beyond that, his future stretched empty and unknown before him.

His whole life had changed irrevocably in the past few days. A distant whooping froze him in his tracks.

He listened a moment to the yells, and the hair on the back of his neck p.r.i.c.kled. A war party, a victorious one from the sound, was coming his way.

At almost the same moment, the wind s.h.i.+fted, and he caught their scent. Dwarves . . . Bnen, probably.

His mind caught something else-men-thoughts, awash with fear.

Dain turned about slowly, absorbing sounds, scents, and that wailing panic from human minds. It was time for him to get out of here.

But he did not run. Instead, he waited to make sure he understood from where they were approaching and how many there might be. Dwarves tended to travel in tight cl.u.s.ters of about half their fighting force, with the rest scattered out ahead, parallel with, or behind the pack. If he wasn't careful, he could cross paths with some of the scouts. Unarmed, he had no chance of surviving any such encounter.

They yelled again, chanting their gruff war songs, and a drum began to beat, close and loud. Dain dartedundercover and crouched low, making himself as still and small as possible, hoping his clothing would blend into the colors of the thicket.

A scout pa.s.sed him, gnarled and short, his powerful shoulders supporting a bloodstained war axe, his cap pulled low upon his craggy forehead, his eyes reddened and glaring.

Seconds later, another scout appeared, only to vanish almost immediately back into the undergrowth.

When a third and fourth scout showed themselves, Dain realized they were converging on the clearing where Thia's burrow was. They had camped there yesterday before going on their night raid. Now, in the cold early morning, they were returning, fierce and satisfied, splattered with blood and gore, many of them bearing loot.

At first Dain was puzzled. There were no clans living this close to the forest's edge. Who had the Bnen attacked?

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