Araris stroked her hair with one hand. “True enough.”
“And… and there’s no time.” How could it go so quickly when you needed it most?
“If he… hurts you,” Araris said calmly, “I’m going to kill him.”
She lifted her head sharply and met his eyes. “You mustn’t.”
His scarred face was completely immobile. “Mustn’t I?”
She framed his face with her hands. “The point of this is to reach his heart, Araris. He’s built up layers and layers of defenses around his emotions-and being up here, it’s easy to see why. He’s channeled his passion into protecting his people, fighting the threat that’s right here in front of him. Even if I die, trying to reach him, I might get through. I think he’s a decent man, beneath the calluses and scars. If my blood is what it takes to wash them away, so be it.”
Araris stared down at her for a long moment.
“Bloody crows,” he whispered, finally. “I’ve never known such a woman as you, Isana.”
She found her face warming, but she couldn’t look away from his steady gaze.
“I love you,” he said, simply. “I’ll not try to carry you off before you can go out and get hurt tomorrow. I won’t try to change what you are.”
She didn’t trust herself to speak. So she kissed him. Their arms slid around one another, and time went by on the wings of a falcon.
When he finally broke the kiss, though, there was something cold and hard in his voice.
“But I’m not changing who I am, either,” he said in that same calm, steady voice. His eyes flashed and hardened. “And if he hurts you, my love, I’ll leave his corpse out there on the snow at the foot of his precious Wall.”
CHAPTER 33
Tavi walked slowly forward, shivering beneath the damp coldness of his body-heat-concealing cloak. The weather had cooperated with them remarkably well. Cold rain, mixed with soft-frozen sleet, continued to fall, and the wind had died down to almost nothing as night closed in and slowly drew talons of ice across the face of the land.
As surprise assaults went, it was the most miserable one he could remember actually participating in. His nose was running freely, and he had already, he thought, caught the cold Max had glumly predicted. He didn’t want to keep sniffling, and yet wiping at his face with a cloth wasn’t something he could spare attention for, either. As a result, his face looked like a small child’s-all in all a great deal less dignified than befitted a Princeps of the Realm, he was certain.
Kitai walked on his left, and slightly ahead of him. Her senses were sharper than his, and though he didn’t like the idea of letting the young woman be the first to step closer to oncoming danger, he knew better than to ignore the advantage to be gained by doing so. To his right, and slightly behind him, Maximus walked with his hand on his sword. His rough-hewn friend’s expression was placid, distant, his eyes focused on nothing, though Tavi had no doubt that Max was perfectly aware of everything around him. He doubtless had a number of furycraftings held ready to use, and doing so was an effort of will and concentration that demanded the most out of the young Antillan.
On the opposite side of Kitai from Tavi, Durias kept pace with a distinctly unhappy expression on his face. Granted, that might be because the blocky former slave was just as cold and wet and uncomfortable as Tavi. It might also be because Tavi was leading him into the stronghold of a horde of nightmare creatures in an alien land two thousand miles from his home.
Max and Kitai had both faced gratuitous amounts of danger with him before-and not always for reasons as desperate and concrete as those before them now. Durias, though, was a new companion. He’d gotten where he had in life by being a man of both competence and conviction, and Tavi had never seen him comport himself with less than complete integrity and sound reasoning.
Durias had to be wondering what he had done to deserve this.
As if sensing Tavi’s gaze, Durias turned to him, an inquiring look upon his face. Tavi gave him what he hoped was a reassuring nod, and sternly kept himself from smiling. It just wasn’t the proper time for it.
Behind them, the Canim walked upon their broad shoes, leaving dish-shaped impressions in the thick surface of the croach. Thus far, none of their steps had actually broken that surface. The steady, cold rain barely had time to begin to fill each dent before it vanished, the surface of the strange substance rebuilding itself.
Kitai abruptly lifted a hand, and every member of their hunting party froze in place.
The woods ahead of them shivered, then a trio of the enormous, froglike Vord came into sight, not twenty yards away. They padded by on broad, flapping feet, their movements sinuous and awkward at the same time.
Tavi tensed, and found his own hand moving toward his sword. They weren’t yet halfway into the croach-covered area around the Vord’s tunnel. If they were seen now, they might never have a chance to strike down the queen-or of escaping the Vord’s domain alive. Should one of the frog-Vord notice them, it could mean their lives.
But none of the three even glanced toward Tavi and his companions.
Tavi let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes in relief-just for a second. He could sense the same reaction from the others.
Kitai waited until the Vord had passed from sight, then glanced back at Tavi, nodded, and started forward again. They all followed her, their pace deliberate and steady, avoiding thin patches of the croach that might be more easily broken than other places.
It was during one such detour that Tavi came across a broken section of croach. Three parallel claw marks, perhaps an inch apart, had been raked through the thin sections of croach at the base of a fallen tree. The marks were oozing fresh, brightly glowing green liquid, and Tavi stared at it in horror.
The wax spiders would already be on the way. His group would shortly be discovered, and they hadn’t even been responsible for the alarm that would surely be raised. It wasn’t so much the thought of being killed that bothered Tavi-though it certainly did. He just hated the idea of dying because some other fool had made a mistake. He stared at the damaged croach, thinking furiously, and motioned the others back.
Everyone obeyed, except for Varg. The scarred old Cane came forward, his strides exaggerated but confident upon the broad shoes, and froze when he saw what Tavi was staring at. The Cane’s eyes narrowed instantly, and began flickering at the trees all around them, his lips peeling back from his fangs.
Tavi began to back up, only to realize that it was too late.
One of the wax spiders had come, gliding across the ground toward them. It had too many legs to be a real spider, of course, but that was the closest thing Tavi could think of in form and movement. Its body was covered in a translucent white chitin, and it was about as big as a medium-sized dog, perhaps thirty-five or forty pounds in weight, though its long limbs made it look larger. A number of glossy eyes glittered greenly on its head, just above the bases of a pair of thick, thorn-shaped mandibles, fangs that Tavi knew bore a swift-acting, dangerous poison.
Tavi dropped his hand to his sword without thinking.
Varg’s huge paw-hand closed over his. “Wait,” the Cane rumbled. “And do not move.”
Tavi blinked at the Cane, then back to the spider. The creature was barely a dozen feet away. It would be sure to notice them around the damaged croach and raise the alarm. As Tavi watched, the spider abruptly oriented on them, turning its entire body on its many legs, and began bobbing up and down in agitation, a precursor to the whistling shrieks with which it would warn the rest of the Vord.