He lowered the shield a bit, emulating the grey squire from Barth, then rained his favorite combination of strikes on Shung. The moves felt strange and awkward one-handed.
Shung darted forward with a cry and gave Achan’s forearm a bruising blow, splitting the strap on Achan’s shield. It clattered to the ground, and Achan stumbled over it. He gripped Eagan’s Elk in two hands and they fought on.
Achan felt better this way. This was familiar, what he’d been practicing day after day. Still, his side pinched from fatigue, and his hip, shin, and forearm throbbed from Shung’s strikes. “I’m tired.”
Shung laughed, a deep throaty sound akin to gargling. Maybe he was tired too.
Achan felt pressure under his boot. His ankle twisted, and he stumbled back, catching his balance too late. Shung struck, and Eagan’s Elk betrayed him by zinging from his hand and clattering to the ground. Achan dodged a thrust by falling onto his stomach and found himself lying on his shield, the cursed object he’d tripped over. He picked it up and cowered behind it.
Shung barred his yellow teeth in a wide grin. “Maybe you should give up now.”
“Likely.” Squatting, Achan twisted on his toes as Shung circled. “But I’m stubborn.”
Shung swung again, silent this time.
Achan heard Sir Gavin’s voice. “Yield, Achan.”
Yield? He wasn’t about to yield. Eagan’s Elk was only a few paces away. If only—
Shung came at him again, silently. Achan, still crouched on the ground, parried a staggering wallop with the shield. The force knocked him to his rear. He planned to inch his way around the pen toward Eagan’s Elk, but Shung stepped on the shield.
For a lighter man, this would have been a mistake. Achan could have pushed up or twisted the shield to the side and caused his opponent to fall. Shung, however, pressed Achan into the dirt like butter between two cuts of bread.
The herald proclaimed Shung the winner — although technically, Shung hadn’t pinned him with the blade. Perhaps the herald was as tired of this match as Achan was. The sparse crowd clapped as if they’d rather be somewhere else. Apparently a squire from Berland and a stray brought little excitement.
Shung offered his hand. Achan gripped it, and Shung yanked him to his feet. “You well to talk to, Achan Cham. If ever you venture to Berland, we will hunt the beast of your name.”
8
The next morning, Vrell stood in a steamy chamber similar to the bathhouse but three times as long. Torches flickered in rings on the walls. Mosquitoes swarmed. Instead of a stone floor that dropped off at the underground river, here a dirt floor sloped like a beachfront into the same vaporous tide. The river looked to be twice as wide as Jax was tall.
Lord Dromos and Ez stood in the chamber with Vrell and the knights. Six animal-skin boats were anchored to the shore by ropes looped around stone spikes, their wide ends bobbing in the rippling current. Ez, the wispy manservant, lowered two burlap sacks into the boat on the far left and strode to the chamber’s wall. Khai darted forward and dropped his pack in the boat. Ez returned carrying a long staff with a glowing lantern on the end. He lowered it into a slot in the bow.
The slimy, brown tunnel wall gleamed in the lamplight. The walls were not clean here as they were in the bathhouse upriver. Over time, moisture and minerals had created gnarly textures along the walls like the roots of a tree.
Khai walked past Vrell for another pack.
“What about the horses?” Vrell asked him.
“They’ll stay here. We can always get more horses. But gods forbid we lose your precious face to an eben spear. Master would rage. Therefore we go under the ebens, by boat. It’s safer for everyone.”
Lord Dromos stood with Jax, both giants ankle-deep in the hot springs. The giant lord pointed down the dark tunnel. “It’s a two-day journey to the Lebab Inlet. You’ll have to take shifts piloting the boat as there is nowhere to stop for the night.”
Jax swatted a mosquito away from his face. “We appreciate your hospitality, my lord.”
Lord Dromos walked backward and raised one hand. “Gods be with you all.”
Jax, Khai, and Vrell climbed inside the boat. Ez untied it and pushed off. The humid air rushed past Vrell’s face as the current sucked the boat into the dark tunnel. Jax had placed her in the bow, but moving at such speed into unknown blackness sent a tremor through her limbs. She turned her back and burrowed down into the boat’s narrow front.
The current was so swift here that rowing wasn’t necessary. Jax and Khai did not speak. Both held oars out to the side, stoic faces focused ahead. Every so often the boat jolted when one of them pressed an oar against the tunnel wall to steer the boat back to the center of the river.
Vrell did not like how the men’s dark faces seemed to be looking at her. She twiddled her fingers, scratched a fresh mosquito bite on her wrist, then traced the tight stitches in the seam of the boat with her right forefinger.
She looked up. Craggy dripstones of various girths — some long and smooth, some tiny and jagged — covered the tunnel ceiling. A drop of water landed on her cheek, then her nose, then her forehead. With the intense humidity, she had not noticed the gentle shower.
A thick pressure filled Vrell’s ears. It was the man newly gifted in bloodvoices. He was thinking of poison.
The low-voiced old man begged, Tell me where you live.
Another man said, Are you there? Speak to me!
Then the connection vanished.
Vrell’s eyes flicked to Jax’s. The giant’s gaze was focused straight ahead. She glanced to Khai and met his black-eyed stare. She looked away, wondering if they had heard the voices as well. How could this man make everyone hear him? At least he appeared to have learned to close his mind. Perhaps he was someone’s apprentice, as she would soon be.
Khai’s oily voice echoed off the rock walls. “Clearly you know you have the gift or you wouldn’t be so skilled at blocking others.”
Vrell stiffened. “What gift?”
Khai cackled. “I’m no fool, boy. We were sent to bring you to Master Hadar. He wouldn’t send Kingsguardsmen on a mission for nobody.”
Vrell looked back to Khai. “But I am no one of consequence.”
“Not now.” Khai’s eyes darted away as his oar clunked against the tunnel wall. “It’s a long journey ahead. We could practice bloodvoicing, communicate with that new boy, help him.”
Boy? His voice had not sounded like a boy’s to Vrell.
“Khai!” Jax’s booming voice made Vrell twitch.
“Well, why not?” Khai slapped a mosquito on his cheek. “We could ready this boy for his apprenticeship and find out about the other one for Master.”
“What Vrell hides is his own business. We were sent to fetch him, not to poke around in his head.”
“His secret could be valuable to someone. Perhaps we could both profit from it.” Khai looked from Jax to Vrell. “There are ways to force it from him.”
“I won’t sink to witchcraft, nor will you in my presence,” Jax said. “We’ll deliver Vrell unharmed, nothing more.”
Khai mumbled to himself.
Vrell’s heart quaked beneath her layers of padding. Both of these warriors obviously knew she was hiding something, and at least one of them wanted to sell it to the highest bidder.
She did not know how or why her defense against their ability was so strong, but thank Arman it was. Should Khai discover her secret, his reward would be great and Vrell’s life would be over. She could not allow the weasel to intimidate her into letting her guard down. Jax was a good man. If she stayed close to him, she knew he would protect her from Khai’s greed.