Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) Read online

  He jumped, eyes flying open. "No!"

  She leaned back, staring at him. "Did I hurt you?"

  "What?" He blinked a few times. "What? Oh." He shook his head and began rocking slightly in place, forward and backward. She wasn't sure if he knew he was doing it. "Oh."

  "Yarro," she repeated, concerned.

  "It's all right," he said. "I'm all right. Did you finish sewing it?" He looked down at his leg and stopped rocking.

  "I did." Azmei looked down at it, too. Perhaps it was best to ignore whatever had just happened. "Let me cut the sinew. Then I'll put some Feverbane on it and bandage it. As long as you keep it clean and we keep an eye on it, I think it should heal well."

  "Good." Yarro frowned, but he seemed more thoughtful than unhappy. "Aevver, do you know how to fight with all those knives?"

  She blinked. All those knives? She only wore two openly, and she didn't think that quite qualified to be called "all those knives." How did he know about the others?

  "I do know how to fight," she said, choosing not to comment on the number. "You shouldn't carry a blade if you don't know how to use it. Otherwise you're just asking someone to take it from you."

  "Really?" He looked up at her face, startled eyes wide. Then he dropped his gaze again. "I didn't know that."

  She could almost see him filing the information away for later reflection. It made her want to smile. He was a strange boy, but she liked him. It made her angry that his brothers called him a freak. She understood why Orya had thought him special, even though she'd lied when she claimed he was all but deaf and dumb. There was something innocent about him, but he was clever, and canny enough in some ways.

  "Let me finish this," she repeated, and drew her sharpest knife to neatly slice the sinew.

  When she tied the bandage in place, she wiped the blood from her hands and smiled at him. "There now. Let's get some food in you, to build back some of that blood you lost. You were very brave, Yarro."

  He smiled at her, and the beauty of his smile made her chest ache. How had this boy grown up in the company of hardened assassins? Orya must have cared for him as she cared for no one else, if he had somehow grown up so innocent. "Thank you, Aevver."

  She patted his shoulder, then regretted it as he flinched. "Rest here. I'll get the food." He didn't like being touched, she reminded herself. She'd allowed herself to forget, since he'd let her touch him to treat the wound. But he'd had little choice in that matter. Just because he bore the necessity with dignity didn't give her leave to touch him more familiarly afterwards.

  After that lecture you gave him about women's bodies belonging to themselves, you should have given him the same courtesy, she reminded herself, and decided to spend more time than necessary getting the food out of the packs. It would give him a minute alone.

  ***

  Yarro looked down at the neat stitches on his calf. The gash hurt, but it could have been much worse. If he'd cut himself when he was alone, he probably would have panicked and forgotten that you were supposed to press on the wound to staunch the blood flow. He had hated the sight and stench of blood since the injury he'd told Aevver about.

  YOU CAN'T TRUST HER, whispered one of the Voices. He didn't recognize that one.

  But I want to trust her, he thought back. She's been kind to me, mostly. And she knows a lot.

  SHE IS USEFUL, agreed the Wise Uncle Voice. BUT SHE CARRIES SECRETS WITH HER THAT I CANNOT PENETRATE.

  What does that even mean? Yarro wondered. Doesn't everyone have secrets? Can you penetrate everyone's secrets? Or just mine? I didn't think anyone else could hear you.

  MOST CANNOT, THAT IS TRUE. NEARLY ALL ARE DEAF TO US. BUT MOST ARE NOT OPAQUE TO US AS SHE IS. USUALLY WE CAN PERCIEVE MUCH OF A HUMAN'S MIND, EVEN IF THAT MIND IS NOT AWARE OF US. YET SHE KEEPS HER SECRETS CLOSE.

  What does it matter? Yarro rocked back and forth, wishing he could curl up in his blankets and not move while the Voices spoke to him. Eventually you will figure out her secrets. Until then, she's helping me. She's nice to me. He paused, hesitant to admit the truth to himself, let alone to the Voices. I like her.

  The Voices rose in a clamor amongst themselves, and Yarro couldn't discern what any individual Voice was saying. He closed his eyes and rocked, taking comfort in the motion, the predictability. It was often an unconscious motion, but not always. Finally the Voices fell silent. Maybe they had reached an agreement. Maybe they had cut him off. They did that sometimes, he thought.

  VERY WELL, said the Wise Uncle Voice at last. SHE IS USEFUL TO YOU. BRING HER TO US, BUT WATCH HER. BE CAREFUL OF HER UNTIL YOU KNOW HER SECRETS.

  Yarro shrugged. Of course he was watching her. Just because he liked her didn't mean he trusted her. For the most part, he liked Kesh, after all, and he had never fully trusted Kesh. Come to think of it, he had liked Orya—loved Orya—and yet she had gone away from him. He didn't trust Orya anymore, either. Aevver would be just one more person he liked but didn't trust.

  "Yarro, are you all right? Does your leg hurt?" Aevver's voice was concerned, and very near.

  He opened his eyes. "Not very much, but it does hurt. I was just thinking."

  She crouched in front of him, her face turned towards him but her gaze not on his. It occurred to Yarro that she had realized he didn't like making eye contact with people, and she was adapting. She was trying to make him more comfortable. A surge of liking rushed through him and he had to keep from smiling. He didn't care what the Voices said. Sometimes they were wrong. They were wrong about eating Grandfather. They were wrong about other things. Sometimes.

  "I hear Voices," he blurted. "I don't know who They are, but They talk to me a lot." He stopped rocking and looked at her knee instead of her face. "They say you have secrets, but that's all right. I have secrets too. I kept the Voices secret from you." He glanced up briefly, just enough to meet her gaze and flick away again. "I keep the Voices secret from everyone."

  Aevver was silent for so long Yarro decided she must not believe him. He started rocking in place again, wondering if she would abandon him if she thought he was lying to her. Maybe she thought he was making fun of her. Wouldn't that be the silliest thing—if the boy who had grown up being called a freak made fun of others? But she might think he was.

  "Thank you for trusting me," Aevver said finally. Her voice was very soft. "Did your sister Orya know about Them?"

  Yarro nodded. He was tired of talking. At least she seemed to believe him. But he didn't want to explain about why he was following the Voices and where They were leading him.

  Aevver nodded back and stood. "Now I'll know not to interrupt when They are talking," she said. "Come, let's ride a bit further today, all right? We should be in Rivarden in a couple of days. We'll get rooms at an inn and give your leg time to heal."

  Without another word, she went back to her horse and started putting the medical supplies back in her pack. Yarro stood, testing his weight on the leg, and deciding it wasn't too bad. He limped over to Firefoot, who knelt to help him scramble up.

  As soon as he was in the saddle, his calf began to throb. Yarro shifted in place for several minutes before Aevver realized what the problem was and called a halt.

  "Of course, the blood's probably pooling in your leg, like that," she mused, studying him. "Tell you what, let's see if we can prop that leg up some. I know you won't want to ride double with me, so we'll have to get you balanced somehow."

  He managed not to shudder at the idea of being pressed against her for however long they rode. It was just another reason he had never told Tish how he felt about her. The thought of touching her wasn't too bad, but the thought of her touching him didn't appeal to him at all. No one would ever want to be in love with him if they couldn't touch him. He fought down a sudden wave of despair and twisted around to watch Aevver taking her bedroll off her horse. She carried it over to him and lashed it on top of his. He didn't see what she did with the ropes and straps, but after a few minutes, she had made a prop for him to lean agai
nst while he rested his injured leg across the pommel of the saddle. It wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than letting the leg hang.

  "Thank you," Yarro mumbled.

  Aevver smiled up at him, her gaze open. "You're welcome, Yarro. Let's see if you can stand to ride an hour or so like that, all right? I promise we'll stop early tonight."

  ***

  It was almost a relief to be leaving Rivarden, Hawk thought. He let his horse pick his own way through the morning crowd. He was running his gaze along the buildings and streets that he used to know. Rivarden was both painfully different and hauntingly familiar. Governor Tarkor did his best to feed the refugees and war orphans, but there were so many, and the food supply only stretched so far. Yet there were still plenty of cocky soldiers on leave, mercenaries looking for the next quick gold, and mine workers in town on rotation.

  He shook his head and guided his black gelding towards the gate, the pack horse trailing them. The Diamond Gate had been fortified almost beyond recognition, but he supposed that was better than being sealed up entirely. The guards came to attention as he approached. Most of the traffic so far had been streaming into the city, and it was rare for a traveler to go north on foot. Most took a canal boat up the Kreyden Capital Canal. Hawk could tell the guards were looking forward to a chat about his business, but one look at the royal seal he carried and they went silent. They exchanged a look and the officer waved him through. Hawk gave them a polite smile. No use flaunting his status.

  The first few miles went by quickly as Hawk relished his first taste of true solitude in years. Oh, he had often been alone in his cell, but that had never been under his control. It could be forced on him or ripped away at a moment's whim. And while Commander Ayowir had never been cruel, she had not always noticed what her underlings did. Even when Hawk was free again, he had almost always had someone around, either giving orders or asking something of him. Even the ever-present servants had begun to grate on his nerves.

  But now, out here in the desert north of the city, Hawk and his horses were truly alone. While he was traveling at the prince's command, he took no one with him, and that was Hawk's choice, no one else's. He put his head back, sniffing at the air, and laughed.

  Hawk estimated they had covered fifteen miles when he decided to stop for lunch. When he had been in fighting trim, he'd been able to ride all day and eat in the saddle, but on the ride from Salishok he had noticed that his leg ached if he pushed it too hard. Better to take a break for lunch. He loosened the black's girth and wandered around the small hollow he'd chosen. A few scrubby bushes spoke of the presence of moisture underground, while a pile of rocks twenty feet away hinted deceptively at a spring. Hawk checked and found no spring, but he had plenty of water in his skins.

  He alternated bites of dried meat and figs as he paced around the hollow. There wasn't much moisture in the figs, but it tempered the salt of the meat. He would have a better supper, but he was a warrior, used to common fare. At least, he had been. What am I now? A warrior who lost his war? A king's man who might lose his king? He shook the thoughts aside and fished another strip of meat out of his pack.

  That was when the bandits struck.

  A woman with the coloration of a half-blood came at him from behind the cluster of rocks, three ragged swordsmen behind her. Hawk dropped his meat and drew Talon, spinning—but there was a one-eyed man approaching from that side, leading three more bandits. He drew Claw as well and set himself at an angle, watching them both.

  "What do you want? I haven't much gold." And he didn't want to part with any of it, but if paying them would avert a fight, he would do it. Eight on one odds might have been manageable when he was at the peak of his fighting condition. It was a ridiculous notion now, with only a few weeks of honing his skills again, not to mention the bad leg.

  "We've already been paid, mate," said the one-eyed man. "Someone really wants you dead." As he spoke, the woman attacked, but Hawk had been careful to split his attention. He pivoted, blocking her thrust and pushing it away. The man behind her wasn't as skilled as she was. Hawk's blade tore open his throat. He dropped his sword and clutched at the wound, gurgling. A moment later he dropped to the ground. Dead, Hawk tallied, and used Claw to block the woman's next attack.

  Not good, Hawk realized. Someone wanted him dead. This would be a fight to the death, whether he wanted it or not, and if he didn't get the upper hand quickly, he might as well surrender and let them execute him.

  He flung Claw at the next attacker in the woman's group. It took the man in the stomach. Not where Hawk had been aiming, but it would do. The man dropped to his knees, screaming. Hawk darted away from the woman, who was coming after him again. He kicked the injured man over and stomped hard on the man's knee. He dragged the bloody dagger out of the man's gut, gratified when the man's scream rose in pitch, and spun to face the woman again. She was the greater danger, he judged, than the last of the bandits who had followed her into battle.

  "Lail! Be careful!" the one-eyed man shouted. "He didn't say the bastard was an assassin!"

  Hawk bared his teeth at them. "I'm not an assassin. I'm a war hero." Gods, he sounded so puffed up and ridiculous. No wonder the woman laughed.

  "War Hero or mine slave, I don't care. We were paid to kill him, and we will," she retorted. "Benn! Get in here!"

  Damn. Hawk had hoped the man would hang back to cut off his retreat. That was over. Hawk lunged at the last of the woman's support attackers. The man backpedaled and tripped over his own feet. He didn't go down, but it gave Hawk time to close. He punched Claw through the man's chest. The man dropped, dead and silent.

  The woman swore. Hawk pivoted on his bad leg to face her. The leg didn't give, but a spike of pain shot up his thigh. It made him gasp and struggle for balance. In that instant, the woman darted in, her short sword slashing through Hawk's sleeve and into his bicep.

  Hawk fell back a step. No one was blocking his retreat in that direction, but if he abandoned his horses and water skins out here, he was a dead man anyway. He raised both blades and dropped into a light crouch, transferring his weight to the balls of his feet. He'd slain two of their folk and seriously injured a third. It wouldn't be enough to make them back down, but at least it had evened the odds a bit. The one-eyed man was circling around him, his three swordsmen spreading out in a spaced line.

  "We don't have to do this," Hawk said. "I don't know you. I won't seek retribution if you turn around and leave now."

  The woman—Lail, the man had called her—laughed. "Retribution? That's a good one, since it's the crown that ordered you dead. Who would take revenge on the crown?"

  The crown? Hawk checked his stance and footing. Why would Razem have ordered him killed by bandits? It would have been much easier to simply have him executed. They wouldn't have traded the Deranged Duke for him if they'd wanted him dead. Not Razem, then, and not Marsede.

  "You've been deceived," he said. He shifted around, watching the one-eyed man as he circled.

  "Maybe, but we've been paid, too," said Lail. "And we're no thieves. We took payment. Now you're going to die."

  "I've already killed three of you!" Hawk snapped.

  "Two at best, and you're wounded," Lail countered. "Even so, I'd make it quick if you surrender now."

  "To the hells with you," Hawk said, and lunged at her.

  The one-eyed man attacked at the same time, but he was slow. It was clear the woman was the leader of this group. Take her out and the others might crumble. Hawk swung at her. She managed to block, but she fell back a step. He swung again and she stood firm, but a third swing forced her back another step.

  Hawk met the one-eyed man's swing with Claw and pushed him back. His bad leg twinged as he did. It might not hold much longer. He'd better make this quick.

  He swung at Lail again, and her block was just a shade too slow. Talon ripped through her throat. She stared at him, reeling backwards. She managed one more swing that opened a cut on his wrist. Then she fell hard int
o the sand.

  "Laaaaaailll!" the one-eyed man screamed. He charged at Hawk.

  ***

  Azmei eased her gelding to a stop. "What was that?" She'd thought she heard shouting a minute ago, but now she was certain. Someone had just screamed in agony. A man.

  Yarro jerked upright. "Aevver, help!"

  She urged the gelding around. "Is it your leg?" He'd done all right yesterday, but she could tell it was hurting him by the time they made camp. She'd drugged him to the gills last night, and this morning she'd laced a bit of easeall into his tea. She knew he couldn't be comfortable, though.

  "Yarro?"

  Firefoot was still walking, Yarro sitting atop him like a lump. Azmei guided Sandy back to the bigger horse, wondering if she would have to catch Yarro. "Yarro, are you all right?" she asked. "Is it your leg?"

  "Help him—help the other person," he gasped. He bent down over the pommel.

  "The other—that man who shouted? Like hells! I'm trying to keep you safe, not pick fights that aren't mine!"

  He lifted his head slowly. It was a gesture very unlike Yarro, and sent chills down Azmei's legs. His eyes were blank, staring past her. His mouth was slack.

  He'd said these were visions, but to Azmei they looked more like fits.

  She cleared her throat. He wouldn't answer her, not if he was like this. She tried to bring Sandy alongside Firefoot, but the bay stallion sidled away. Yarro turned his face towards her.

  "This is our fight." His voice was hollow, distant. She didn't like it. "Help him, Aevver."

  Azmei stared at him. He couldn't mean it. The clash of blade against blade met their ears. That was a fight, no mistaking, and if Azmei got herself involved, there would be questions asked that she couldn't afford to answer.

  But he'd said they were visions. He said they told him things. What if they were telling him this?

  Azmei swore and pulled Sandy around towards the shouting.

  Just then another voice screamed. "Laaaaaailll!" There was grief in that voice as well as rage. It didn't bode well for whoever Lail was—or whoever had hurt Lail. Azmei swore again and closed her legs around Sandy's sides. He leapt into a gallop.