Everything was still. Time waited.
“You are my people,” Areava declared in her strongest voice, the words ringing across the water. “And I will always be your queen. Nothing shall come between us. I live to serve this mighty kingdom of Grenda Lear, all its inhabitants, and its destiny.”
She sat down, and the cheering started all over again. Olio climbed the dais, knelt before his sister and laid his forehead on her knee. “Indeed, sister, you are our queen, and none would have it otherwise.”
She leaned over and kissed his head. “We have come through much since the deaths of our mother and two brothers, sweet Olio, but now things are as they should be.” He looked up into her eyes and saw happiness and solemnity there. “It seems to me that the world, once again, is aright.”
Jes Prado teetered from the tent, a leather bottle in one hand, and crisscrossed his way across the camp. A guard watched his progress with cruel amusement. He managed to reach the middens without accident, but as he fumbled with his belt, he lost his balance and tipped forward into the piss trench. There was a loud squelching sound and the mercenary disappeared from sight. The guard laughed hard and long, only stopping when he saw his sergeant leave his tent to start his inspection round. He forgot about the drunk Prado and straightened his jerkin.
Prado, now out of sight, threw away the bottle and made his way on hands and knees from the piss trench to the horse park. He chose the quietest stallion and untethered him from his post, then quietly, cautiously, led him into the darkness. When he could no longer hear the sounds of the camp, he mounted, and using his knees against the stallion’s ribs and his hands in his mane urged him along the dangerous road back to Hume.
He had waited to escape for as long as possible, but had risked being caught this night because Rendle’s increasingly unpredictable anger terrified him. Ever since reaching the border of Haxus, Rendle had been waiting for word from Eder, but none ever came. He refused to accept that his trusted-lieutenant had failed him, and although the news about Lynan’s existence and approximate whereabouts would win him favor in King Salokan’s eyes, he was furious that the young prince had once again slipped through his fingers.
Prado knew that his own life was now worth nothing to Rendle, and if he did not escape would soon meet a convenient accident. Besides, if Rendle could sell his information to Salokan, then Prado could sell it to Areava.
He looked up into the sky, bright and remote, and wished he was a bird and could fly all the way home. He sighed. He was only a man, a lonely man cut off from friends and allies, and the road ahead would be as dangerous going back as it had been getting here. But he would manage it. He had news for the new queen. He looked back at Rendle’s camp for the last time.
And a score to settle he thought. Watch for me, Captain Rendle. I will come back for you one day, and cut off your head.
Jenrosa entered the hide hut and immediately felt ill with the heat. A central fire, surrounded by white stone and fed by dung, burned brightly. Next to it lay a heap of woolen hides, and on top of the heap lay Lynan, unconscious and shivering. His fever had lasted five days so far and gave no sign of easing. His skin was yellow and his face—once so full and boyish—was scarred and gaunt with pain. Kumul was sitting next to him. At first, she thought he was praying, but then she heard the name of Elynd Chisal. She moved a step closer and listened.
“So when your father was murdered, you see, I took you as my son. Nothing formal, of course. I mean, a soldier doesn’t tell the queen how to look after her own child, but I was going to make sure you were brought up right, just like the general would have wanted.” Kumul’s words thickened and the giant man stopped to clear his throat. He ran a hand through his short, graying hair. “But here you are, you see, all in a heap, and the Chetts don’t have any medicine or magic to heal you because you’re wounded so bad. So what I’m saying is that you have to do this by yourself. I can’t help you anymore. No one can. But I’m not letting go, understand. I’m not going to let you just die, lad. So I’m going to talk to you. You hear my words and follow them back.”
Jenrosa crouched down next to Kumul, gingerly moving her bandaged leg so it rested straight. Kumul’s eyes were red, and he held Lynan’s right hand in both of his. Jenrosa lay her own hands on Kumul’s.
“There’s nothing for it,” he said hoarsely.
Jenrosa touched Lynan’s forehead. It was damp and cold, despite the heat. “You should get some rest. I will stay with him.”
“You are a magicker…” he started hopefully, looking into her eyes.
She saw her own pain and grief reflected there. She shook her head. “I really was only a student, Kumul. I know some tricks, some simple spells and incantations, but what Lynan needs is beyond my power, or beyond the power of any magicker I know of.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to let him die,” he said fiercely.
She rested her head against Lynan’s chest. His heartbeat was slow and faint. At that moment, if she could have given her life for his, she would have done so.
It would be a fair exchange, she thought, hoping a god somewhere was listening. My life means something to me now. It would be a sacrifice.
But Lynan needed something stronger than her life, she told herself. His ghost has traveled so it can probably see the dead. If only he hadn’t lost so much blood.
She blinked. Blood. The source of all life. She was chasing down a dim memory and when she caught it she gasped at the implications. Her eyes opened wide with sudden fear. Did she dare? It might kill him, and yet…
She looked at his pale body again, the wasting flesh, and understood she had no choice. She struggled to her feet and limped out of the tent. With a puzzled frown, Kumul watched her go. Gudon was sitting with Ager on the grass outside of the hut. They looked up at her, their eyes afraid.
“He’s not… ?” Ager asked, but could not finish the question.
“No, but he will be soon if we don’t do something.” She looked around, but could not see what she needed. “Where are Lynan’s saddlebags?”
“What?”
“For God’s sake, Ager! His saddlebags! Where are Lynan’s saddlebags?”
“In our hut,” he replied. “What do you want them for?”
Jenrosa ignored the question and turned to Gudon. “Get them for me, and some of your potion.”
“The haethu will no longer work,” Gudon objected. “His wounds are too great—”
“Just get them!” she shouted into his face, and limped back to the tent.
A moment later Ager and Gudon entered the tent. Gudon gave her the saddlebags and a small flask of haethu. She searched through one saddlebag, chucking its contents onto the floor, but did not find what she was looking for.
“Oh, damn, damn, damn!” she cried, and opened the second saddlebag, again discarding its contents like a thief searching for coins. Then she pulled out the forester’s coat. She searched its pockets and pulled out a soiled piece of green cloth. “Thank God!”
The others looked at her mystified.
“What are you doing?” Kuraul asked.
They watched her open the stop to the haethu flask, then use a knife to scrape something dark stuck to the cloth into its mouth.