Dragonsbane (Book 3) (5 page)

He dropped his pack and started gathering limbs immediately. “I’ll get a fire going.”

Kyleigh set her pack next to his. “And I’ll find us something to eat. The forest is thick with animals this time of year. I should be able to hunt —”

“No!” Baird cried.

Kael dropped his limbs. Kyleigh drew her sword.

“You can’t shed blood in these woods! It isn’t safe!”

Kael swore. “Oh, for mercy’s sake — don’t scream unless it’s important.”

“It
is
important. Do you want to call the Huntsman down upon us? He roams the forest north of here. His hounds bay for fresh blood. He’s always hungry, always searching …”

Kyleigh slipped Harbinger back into her belt, an amused look on her face. “I think the bard’s trying to take us with his tales.”

Kael agreed, but Baird was insistent.

“It isn’t a tale — it’s the truth!” He stumbled over to them and grabbed Kael by the front of the shirt. His voice was deathly quiet. “People have been disappearing since the start of spring.
Bandits — it’s only bandits
, they said. Then a week ago, a caravan from the seas passed through my gates. Dozens of footsteps, the heavy tread of armored feet and the clang of weapons filled my ears. I heard the barking of soldiers and the coarse banter of hired blades. They were determined to make it to the Valley.

“Yet for all their steel, only one man returned. He burst through my gates in the deadest hour of the night. Madness gripped his limbs. I could feel it in the tremors of his hands when he grasped my shoulders, the crazed strength of his arms as he shook me. He screamed that hounds had devoured his caravan …” Baird twisted his knobby fingers tighter into Kael’s tunic. “But dogs only do the bidding of their master. It’s not the hounds that are to blame — it’s the Huntsman!”

Kael was seriously considering knocking the beggar-bard unconscious when Kyleigh stepped in. She peeled Baird’s hands free and pulled him away. “All right, I won’t do any hunting,” she said as she led him over to the oak. “Just sit quietly while we get a fire started.”

“A small one?”

“Yes, a small one.”

It only took Kael a moment to strike flame. Once the fire was built up, Kyleigh gave Baird some of her rations. Then she grabbed Kael by the front of the shirt and pulled him into the trees.

“What do you plan to do with him?” she whispered once they’d made it out of earshot. 

“Well, I
was
going to quietly abandon him at the next village. But now I’m thinking it might be kinder to just club him over the head and save the next man the trouble.”

Kyleigh didn’t smile. She crossed her arms and looked back in the direction of camp. “I pity him,” she said after a moment. 

He was on to her. “No you don’t. He knows something about you, and you’re just trying to keep it a secret.”

She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. If that were the case, I
would’ve already killed him.”

He believed her.

“Still … I’m curious.” She propped her fingers on her chin, but didn’t quite manage to hide the curve of her smile. “I think we ought to take him with us.”

“You can’t be serious.” He rolled his eyes when she nodded. “Kyleigh —”

“Oh, come now. All he wants is to go to the mountains.”

“Yes, and how many people have you come across that are eager to get to the mountains? I’m telling you — the whole thing reeks.”

“I don’t smell anything.”

“Well you wouldn’t, would you? You’d rather believe he had this magical dream about the friendly, forgiving mountains — but I
can’t
believe it. So now I’ve got to be worried for both of us.”

“I’m perfectly capable of sniffing out trouble for myself. If he was dangerous, I would be able to sense it.” She tilted her chin. “Won’t you help a poor old blind man?”

Kael threw up his hands. “I don’t think he’s even blind! What if this is has all been an act? We know nothing about him. He could be anybody — a thief, a spy, an assassin, an agent of the Countess.”

Kyleigh groaned. “Not this again.”

“What?”

“You’re going on about agents and assassinations — this was exactly what you did with our friends from the Grandforest, remember? And they turned out to be perfectly harmless.”

“This is different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Kael said, though now he wasn’t sure. Perhaps Kyleigh was right: perhaps he was being too hard on Baird. But he wasn’t going to risk finding out. “We’re not taking him with us. We’ll give him some coin for food if you like, but we’re leaving him at the next village. I don’t want him following us around — I don’t trust him.”

She shrugged. “Very well, then. I suppose if that’s your choice —”

“It is.”

“— then I’ll respect it.”

Good. That was precisely what he wanted her to do. But for some reason, the way Kyleigh marched back to camp made him feel as if he’d done something wrong.

They returned to find Baird beard-deep in his dinner. The strips of dried meat the giants had given them for their journey to the seas were coated in a special blend of oil and spices: a few minutes over the fire, and the meat was as hot and juicy as the day it’d been made.

Baird shoveled his rations in at an alarming rate, stuffing the meat down his gullet with both hands. As he chewed, he brought the next strip to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Hmm, pork? Yes, I’m quite certain this was a pig — and a handsome fellow, at that. He was well fed and rather large, judging by the thickness of the fat. I smell a hint of grassy meadows and boundless skies in the crispest bits of skin. Wherever did you find such a creature?”

Kael shot a look
at Kyleigh — who pointedly ignored him.

They ate in relative quiet, with Baird’s smacking the only noise between them. Kael hardly took his eyes off the beggar-bard. He peered at the hairline folds in his bandages, trying to glimpse beneath them.

“Where did you come from, Baird?”

He looked up from his meal, and Kael saw there was a large gathering of crumbs tangled in his beard. “Hmm …  a bard doesn’t care about where he’s been — only where he’s going. He makes his home wherever he lies, sleeps with his head pointed down the road. To him, there’s no beginning and no end. All his steps carry him in a circle.”

Baird smiled, but it was only because he couldn’t see the look Kael gave him. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“Shall I ask
you
a question, then?” Baird’s head tilted in Kyleigh’s direction. “How do you know the Swordmaiden?”

Kael shrugged. “I met her, and now I know her.”

“All right.” Kyleigh waved a hand between them, cutting off whatever reply Baird had at the ready. “We’ve all learned some interesting things about each other. Let’s call it a draw for the evening, gentlemen.”

Baird raised his hands. “Our fairest companion is right. Let’s finish our meals with only happy banter, shall we?”

Kael was about to suggest that he keep his mouth shut for the rest of the evening when a rather large spider drifted down from the branches above them. Its black legs curled lazily about its string, gliding down until it finally came to rest — perched directly atop Baird’s next bite of meat.

Kyleigh reached to swat it away, but Kael grabbed her arm. They watched breathlessly as Baird brought the meat to his lips, the spider still perched atop it. Kael’s toes curled in his boots and he looked away as both meat and spider disappeared into Baird’s mouth.

He hoped the bard would notice, hoped he would gag and spit the spider out. But judging by the loud crunch that followed and the look of horror on Kyleigh’s face, he didn’t.

“Hmm,” Baird said as he swallowed. “Well, that bite wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the last.”

Disappointment sagged at the bottom of Kael’s chest. He’d been hoping to catch Baird in a lie: very few men would’ve willingly downed a spider. But if Baird wasn’t truly blind, then he was at least very committed to his tale.

Chapter 5

An Uneasy Alliance

Countess D’Mere watched as the King stalked the length of the darkened throne room. His boots struck the ground hard. At each cutting turn, his face became more twisted. Crevan had called the Five to Midlan again.

But this time, D’Mere was the only one who’d answered.

Duke Reginald was dead — overthrown by his managers and murdered in his own dungeon. There’d been no word from Lord Gilderick. When D’Mere’s guard hadn’t returned from his … errand, she’d known something was amiss. Her spies were already on their way to investigate. But after what had happened to Sahar, the news likely wouldn’t be good: the desert people were already singing of how the Baron lay in pieces among the glittering ruins of his castle.

As for Titus …

“Why hasn’t he answered me?” Crevan spat.

Two stewards lay dead upon the floor, their limbs curled piteously in drying pools of blood. These stewards were the ones who’d drawn the unfortunate lot of having to tell Crevan what had become of his Kingdom.

D’Mere trailed her gaze across the frozen shock on the stewards’ faces before she answered carefully: “You said you weren’t able to reach his mages. Perhaps that means he didn’t survive the winter, Your Majesty.”

“No … no, he’s far too good. He wouldn’t die that easily.”

Crevan’s fingers trembled as they scraped down his jaw. There was a flicker of his old self behind his eyes. It was sharpened and bolstered by his madness — stretched into a beast that had all of his cunning, but none of his calm.

D’Mere knew her best option would be to remain still.

“This is all
her
doing.” Crevan spat each word, his face burning redder by the second. “I know the Dragongirl is responsible. She senses my blindness. She knows she’s got the run of my realm.”

D’Mere inclined her head. She kept her face smooth, but her mind was alive with thought:
His
blindness?
What had Crevan meant by that
?

“As always, Your Majesty, my army is at your dispos —”

“No, an army won’t do any good. We’ve tried armies, we’ve tried mages, we’ve tried beasts! Nothing can stop her!”

D’Mere had to focus harder than ever to keep her surprise from showing through. Had Crevan just admitted to having monsters? If he had, she knew she probably hadn’t been meant to hear it. So she stared at the hearth while he ranted on, trying to keep her gaze as distant as possible.

Suddenly, Crevan quieted. “There
is
one last thing I haven’t tried … but, no — he means to trick me! I swore I’d never return to that chamber. It’s an evil place, a cursed place. The vines will strangle me. The earth will drag me down — it’ll pull me into my grave, force me to become like … like …
them
.”

D’Mere tried not to breathe. The second steward hadn’t died because of his news — he’d died because he’d interrupted Crevan. She wondered if there was any truth to what the King had said or if he simply rambled on in madness. But though curiosity strained her lips, D’Mere managed to keep them tightly sealed.

“She’s torturing me,” Crevan went on. “She swore she’d end me — but first, she’s going to make me watch as everything I’ve worked for crumbles beneath me. She’s going to pay me back … and Titus knows this.” Slowly, the red drained from Crevan’s face. His next pacing steps were considerably lighter than those before. “I know what Titus is doing — yes, I see it now. He’ll hide behind the smoke of the Dragongirl’s rampage until I step too close. Then he’ll attack. He’s trying to catch me in one of his cursed traps … he’s trying to lure my army into the Unforgivable Mountains. He means to steal my throne.

“Titus sits at the threshold of winter. He knows my soldiers would never survive the climb and even if they did, the cold would finish them. But he knows his betrayal will anger me. He hopes to goad me into sending my army to his door.” Crevan’s voice fell to a deadly hush. “And once it’s defeated, he’ll march on Midlan to claim his prize.”

D’Mere could no longer keep her eyes away. She watched as Crevan slipped deeper into his thoughts. One finger traced the jagged scar through his beard, turning the white to red where he pressed.

“He’s forgotten,” Crevan murmured after a moment, grinning. “He’s forgotten that I chose him — and I choose a servant as much for his weakness as his strength. How else could a man hope to break a larger beast?”

He turned to D’Mere as he said this, and she answered smoothly: “Titus must be stopped, Your Majesty — both for the sake of your crown, and your Kingdom. I’m prepared to do my part.”

“Good.” Crevan stalked over to the broken table, where a letter lay half-torn upon its top. “The new chancellor of the High Seas — this
Chaucer
— has already written to me. And rather than have the waves churn red with the blood of his people, he’s pledged his allegiance. I’m sending an envoy to the seas to forge the details of his surrender.”

“Make sure they’re spelled out carefully, Your Majesty,” D’Mere said with a hard smile. “The men of the seas can’t be trusted.”

“How right you are, Countess. And as you’ve already got such a … talent, for this sort of thing, I was hoping you’d join them. Help convince Chaucer that it’s in his best interest to do exactly as I say.”

She nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Crevan’s grin stretched against his scar, testing it so forcefully that D’Mere thought the skin might split anew. “Titus will defeat an army at the mountain’s top, but it won’t be Midlan’s. And when he comes charging down to take my throne, in the very moment when he thinks he’s won …”

The King crushed the letter between his fingers, and D’Mere understood.