I repeated Beleriaa’s promise to the G’mai: She would watch over the sword, keeping it in the Sacred Mountain, Anjalistirimakan. If the Darkness ever rose again to threaten the world, the G’mai were to use Tayrikaan to defend themselves. Only that born of Darkness can stop Darkness, so it is sung, sing and remember, remember the song.
I often sing while I travel, and this was no different. I sang alone, and the Sun shone on the road in thick golden waves. The rain had fled. I had been right—today was good weather. We should just make it to Shaituh in a week’s time, if it held.
I finished the second canto with Beleriaa assuming her place among the gods in the Eternal Halls, as the guardian of the G’mai. There in the Halls she was reunited with Tarikaan, in a descant all but the most experienced singers fumbled on, one I did not assay, simply took the lower and easier harmony.
There were four more cantos, but I finished the second and stopped, watching the road. Dust rose in the distance—that caravan I had sensed ahead. I saw the column and thought it hung a bit low in the sky. Twas slightly westward, where the beaches would be soon. Had they stopped? Why would a caravan stop less than two days from Vulfentown? Or was it farther, and the distance deceiving me? Telling distances with a song was tricky, and I had learned not to trust it overmuch.
I pulled the gray to a halt, Darik right beside me. The rest of them straggled up, and I lifted my hand for silence, forestalling questions. The bay whickered and subsided, and I heard the minstrel shift in his creaking saddle.
Perhaps a ship had run aground. That did happen, not very frequently, but enough to make it a possibility.
I half-turned in the saddle. “Rat.” I heard him twitch in the saddle. “What gossip, about trouble on the north road?”
His short nervous silence added to my own. “Cha…bandits and other trouble. Shainakh army detachments, I think. Heard so on the wharves.”
“We came out this way earlier,” Janaire said. “I did not trust the air. It seemed fell, so we turned back.”
Aye, you turned back in time to make my life miserable, adai'sa? Yet I had other concerns. “Shainakh army detachments.” Why? The Emperor knows better than to trouble with the freetowns. “Well, nothing to do but find out. I’ve nothing against the Shainakh army, though they are generally ill-tempered.”
“Oh, aye lass,” Redfist said behind me. “I hae never met a good-tempered army yet. What are ye planning t’do?”
“Satisfying my curiosity.” I gathered my reins. “And mayhap finding a way to feed you lot through the winter.”
“But—” Janaire started, and her s’tarei murmured something. Whatever it was, it quieted her, and I started the gray up a long shallow hill. The road ran north and curved a little east, and from the rise we might be able to see a fair bit ahead.
“What do you think?” I finally asked Darik, grudgingly. He rode next to me, the horse obeying the pressure of his will without a bridle needed to tame it.
He did not disappoint. “Trouble. The dust in the distance hangs too low, and tis mixed with smoke. Either a caravan has stopped travel, or something has befallen it. Both are not entirely appetizing thoughts.”
I nodded, my braids falling forward. “I saw a caravan ahead, though tis hard to tell how far. Probably the same one.”
“I know. I felt it, while you sang.” The bay plodded on. Twas a good horse. The streetchild had known what he was stealing, or had been lucky.
Too much luck flowing in this river, both good and ill.
Reminded of the child, I pulled the gray gelding to a stop and half-turned. The boy held onto the saddle, his face pale under dark Shainakh coloring. His eyes were half-closed, and his mouth gaped slightly. Still, he kept hold, and I recognized the look he wore. Determination.
I glanced up, checking the Sun's stance in the sky. A trifle before nooning. “We stop now.”
“But tis not even noon!” Janaire, protesting. Of course. “We just left Vulfentown.”
“You may return hence, if you like.” I cast around, found a shallow grassy area to the left and guided my horse down. “But as long as you travel with me, I tell you when we stop.”
The minstrel coughed nervously, but held his peace. He was wiser than he looked, at least.
Chapter 29
The Songs Are Wrong
I dug another piece of dried fruit from the bag. “Easy, little one.” He had already wolfed the journeybread and the dried meat. I offered him a drink from my waterskin.
The rest of them gathered a little space apart, speaking quietly while they took their nooning. Darik separated himself from the group, paced across the grass to where I stood guard over the young pickpocket. His fingers had not been into my purse, but I did not wish to risk the others. It was too soon to tell if he was trustworthy or not, even if my instincts spoke for him.
Even if the G'mai would think less of me for chastising him, did his hands itch for the wrong pocket.
“S’good,” Rat said, barely stopping to chew. He perched on a fallen log, his legs pulled up to either side like a frog. I smiled at this, then frowned at his battered and callused feet. I had no idea how to care for a child. I had never frequented the nurseries of the House as some other G’mai girls did. On the other hand, a young one who could survive alone on the wharves of Vulfentown by picking pockets would hardly be a child anymore, no matter how few summers he had drawn breath.
“If you do not slow, you will make yourself sick like a horse.” I had suffered the belly-gripes myself after breaking a long fast, wished to save him the discomfort.
Darik’s hand dropped to my shoulder. I did not push him away, I was too busy thinking how I was going to care for a little pickpocket. “How is the little one?” he asked in G’mai.
“Cha.” Rat looked up, his face bright and interested. “Tis true you are a prince?”
“Of a sort,” Darik replied in his fluidly accented commontongue. “I am Kaia’s protector, small one. Take care to stay on her good side.”
A thin thread of pleasure wormed below my breastbone. I tried not to feel it. I did not remark the fact that I needed no protection, either.
“Cha.” Rat nodded vigorously. His greasy hair flopped over his face. “’Sides, I saw her fight.”
Darik nodded. He glanced back over his shoulder at the others. “Kaia?” His tone held a question. What shall I tell them? His voice brushed against the inside of my head, silently, a prayerbell’s sonorous tone.
“Does it matter what you tell them?” Because I truly do not care. I thought it as quietly as I could. Darik still winced as if I shouted.
“It might. The G’mai are here because I am here, and will obey me if necessary. Redfist and the minstrel, who knows? If we are attacked, Atyarik will protect Janaire, and I am responsible for you. But the others…” He shrugged, a movement I could feel through his hand on my shoulder. The touch was oddly comforting.
“I am responsible for my safety,” I reminded him. “I have done well enough until now.”
“True. You have. An honor to fight beside you, then, and guard your back. Which still leaves us the problem of the others.”
Very graceful, princeling. “Redfist can protect himself,” I said, dismissively. “It would probably be a blessing if the minstrel dies.”
“You do not mean that.” It was a quiet statement of fact. “What of the little one?”
“We shall watch him, you and I. I have taken him under my protection, s’ai adai.” I dared not look up at him. I had never in my life said the traditional words that stated an adai’s wishes.
There was a long moment of silence. “Insh’tai’adai. If you wish it, it shall be done. Consider yourself under my protection, child. Unless you disobey Kaia.”
“Does he have to do everything you tell him?” the little pickpocket asked, his eyes wide and round. He had finally stopped stuffing himself, for which I was grateful. A belly-griped child would be no Rijiin holiday.
I have not seen anyone yet out
side the Blessed Land who would understand, small one. “Obedience born of affection, tis the rule.” I sought to explain. Wind came over the bluffs guarding the road and ruffled the little one’s hair, touched my braids. I looked down at Rat, wondering how in the name of the Moon I had ended up with a s’tarei, a ginger-furred barbarian, a half-rate minstrel, two G’mai, and a child pickpocket. Perhaps I could teach them all acrobatic tricks and play for coin in Shaituh. “Now you, little one, are you part of the Thieves Guild?”
His eyes could not have stretched any wider. “Cha, no. Too young.”
The wind shifted, and I tested it, sniffing cautiously before relaxing. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Well, I am of the Guild, and I may sponsor you. But you must be very careful.”
He nodded so enthusiastically I thought his head might snap off. “I will. I will.”
“Good.” I turned and looked up at Darik. “My thanks, D’ri.”
His face was pure G’mai; he smiled a little. Twas not his faint ironclad grimace. It was a genuine one, and his black eyes were warm. There was a faint rough blush on his cheekbones from the wind, and his hair lay against his forehead in messy tendrils. He ducked his head slightly, accepting the thanks. “Tis nothing, Kaia. Truly.” Did he sound…no. He could not sound uncertain. Twas just the personal inflection, transforming his words into something tender. A shared secret.
I reached up without thinking and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. It was rough silk, the texture of it very much like my own—perhaps a little coarser, twas all. I patted it into place, examining the way it reflected the light with a blue-black sheen. D'ri looked down at me, quietly, his Dragaemir face harsh and beautiful, his jaw set with something like pain. Was it pain? If it was, had I caused it?
I did not wish to cause him pain.
“There.” My voice sounded strange, softer than I usually spoke. “Now you look more the prince.”
His dotanii shifted against his back as he moved. He studied my face, intently, searching for something.
I found my fingertips against his cheek. His skin was warm. His eyes held mine for a long breathless moment.
The little pickpocket shifted on his seat and I started, taking my hand away. There it was again, a sharp needling pain when I broke eye contact with Darik. “A little less hungry now, diyan?” It was a pet name for a trained farrat, especially when accented right. Twould serve the boy as a use-name, I decided, as small and quick as he was.
He nodded. I handed him the waterskin again. He took a long draft, his young throat moving as he swallowed. His shirt was too big for him, and dirty gray. His trousers were ragged, held up with a bit of cord. The weather was not right for such thin cloth, I would have to find him aught else to wear.
“I will tell them,” Darik said, a little hoarsely, from behind me. I had not asked him to tell anyone aught.
“My thanks,” I said, automatically, and the pickpocket gazed up at me.
Such trust in such a young-old face. “Is he truly a prince?” The very idea would seem exotic to a freetowner, with their disdain for any but elected officials.
I nodded. “Truly. Heir to the Throne now.” And bound to me, it seems.
“Why is he here?” The boy’s eyes were a little less wide and hungry now. “Because of you?”
I shrugged, a gentle movement. The familiar explanation rose to my lips, altered only slightly by Darik's presence. “Cha, no. They threw him from our homeland, just like me. They tossed me away because I have no magic, young one, and Darik was a threat to the succession to the Throne. So we are two outcastes.” I took my waterskin back. The boy’s fingers were thin, marks of malnutrition showing around mouth and eyes. “Let us hunt you some warmer clothes, cha? A bath would not do harm either, but I see no bathhouse here. We will have to find you some shoes.”
The boy dug in his ragged shirt. “I have coin. Can pay.”
For some reason, it sent a bolt of hot lightning shame through me. “Cha, keep your coin, diyan. You shall have a share just like anyone else here, as the Thieves Guild dictates. I do not need your coin.”
He dipped his head forward, as if ashamed. “Cha,lady.” The hurt and uncertainty in his voice scored my own heart; had I ever been so young?
No, I had left G’maihallan when I was sixteen, scarce more than a child but still more handily equipped than this young one. “Why did you wish to come with me? And steal a horse as well?” I gave him another piece of dried cirfruit.
“Cha, needed the horse to trade so you let me come.” He had eaten three times what I would have and still looked hungry. “Wanted to come with you. You told him not to hit me, in your profession. Tossed me a kiyan. I knew who you were, and the gossips said you were…well, there’s songs.”
“There certainly are.” I lifted him down, my hands under his arms. He was light, too light even for a child. “Most of the songs are wrong, though. A lesson for you, diyan, most of the songs are very wrong. Come, I think I have a heavy shirt that may fit you.”
Chapter 30
Starseed
We camped that night in a sheltered waystation bearing evidence of the caravan passing before us—scuffed dust, a doused campfire, a broken doll laying at the very edge of the grassy space. Whoever the caravan master was, he or she was a good one—even the beast-dung had been shoveled to one side. There was firewood in a small stone shed, recently replenished, and the cistern was clean and clear.
Atyarik picketed the horses while Redfist brought deadfall, and Janaire kindled a fire by sitting before the pile of tinder and small twigs and staring fixedly at it until a thin curl of smoke rose up and small flames began to dance. It was one of the oldest G’mai skills, fire-calling, and I surreptitiously slipped my tinderbox away in a saddlebag.
I walked the perimeter of the waystation, checking for weaknesses, before Janaire called. “Kaialitaa?”
I looked over. Atyarik had put down a tavar’adai for her, and she fed wood to the newborn fire. Redfist passed me, his arms full of fuel. “Minstrel went to find meatroot an’ spice,” he said, over his huge shoulder. “I’ll hunt fer fresh meat. Should I take D’rik?”
Why ask me? “If he wishes to go.”
The boy hovered near Atyarik, who was teaching him how to picket a horse. The s’tarei was gentle, at least, and the boy—dressed now in one of my heavy linen shirts, the sleeves rolled up to his wrists, and a pair of short trousers I had cut down for him—looked almost civilized. Tonight I should use the extra material and some felt from my clothpurse to make a pair of soft shoes. He sorely needs them. “What, adai’sa?”
“Oh, none of that,” she sang in G’mai, her young face bright and open. “Come, sit down, your first lesson.”
“I have no interest.” I stalked to the fireside. “I have little Power, if any.”
“Then you have naught to lose,” she answered, logically enough. She tossed two braids back over her shoulder. “I am yada’adai’s’ina, and I need practice in training so I may become Yada’Adais. You could aid me.”
I bit my lip, gazing at the fire, then at her. The softness of Gavridar in her face; she was young too, as young as the boy in her own way. “Do you think so? I know yada’adai’s’ina must train for years before they are allowed to apprentice.”
Her slim shoulders moved under dark blue velvet, hunching. She was indeed beautiful, her caramel skin flawless and her eyes large and deep over a pair of sculpted cheekbones and her pretty chiseled mouth. I felt graceless and callused next to this girl. Had she ever been hungry? I doubted it.
“I wish to be Yada’Adais. Tis the way I’ve chosen to be of service to the G’mai. I have no skill with blades like you, or knowledge of weapons and tactics like the s’tarei. All I have to offer is my skill as a teacher, and I have not much of that either.” Sadness tinged her tone, and I felt a small twinge. I had not been kind to her.
You are turning soft, Kaia. Soft as a spoiled fruit. I dropped down next to her, cross-legged on the grass. “Well. If you
require practice, I can provide. I warn you though, I am likely to be a difficult student.”
“The best kind, for practice.” She dug in a pouch hanging from her silvery belt. “Here. Try this.” She extracted a small silver sphere about the size of a small Hain oil lamp, easily cupped in a woman’s hand. It appeared made of bright but inert metal, but I knew better, my skin prickling with gooseflesh. Twas a taih’adai, a starseed, a teaching sphere. “Tis the first lesson. Take it from my hand.”
I examined her face. There was no hint of mockery or cruelty. I struggled with the urge to rise and leave her to it, retreat from another failure. If she could not teach me, would she shun me as well?
I have said I will, so I must. I steeled myself, took the sphere.
It vibrated slightly in my hand, starmetal warming to my touch. As I cupped it in my palm, it birthed a silvery soft glow, brighter than an oil lamp.
“This is the first taih’adai.” Her voice was more authoritative, its Power contained and irresistible. She was certainly a teacher, for all her youth. “There are three sets of seven, and they comprise the basic education an adai needs to control Power. They are used when an older child or an adai cannot take direct instruction, and should work well for you. This one will teach you the basics of keeping your taran’adai to yourself. As you’ve no doubt noticed, you are extremely loud when you try to speak to your s'tarei. This shall also teach you some little else.”
I stared at the taih’adai. The light intensified, a cold breeze touching my skin as if the wind from the winter sea had come to rest against me. “Why does it glow?” My voice sounded very far away.
“Once activated by a yada’adai’s’ina, it glows in response to the magnitude of an adai’s Power. Your talent is immense, Anjalismir Kaialitaa, and so…”