Forest of Ruin (20 page)

T
he hardest part of making her request came right at the start. Tova did not appreciate being roused again and moved sluggishly enough that Ashyn would almost think he'd taken the sleeping draught meant for her. But she managed to get him moving and then went out and spoke to one of the warriors. He fetched Edwyn, and she told him what Sabre had said.

When she finished, he led her away to sit on a mat by the still-smoldering campfire.

“You say you had never met this girl?” he began.

“No, but she knows Moria and proved it to my satisfaction.”

“The fact that she's met your sister does not mean it was under good circumstances, child. Is it not possible Moria and Tyrus were captured as traitors?”

Ashyn shook her head. “The proof she gave would only
have come from someone my sister felt comfortable enough to joke with. I do not doubt the girl. Her story makes sense. Tyrus entrusted Dalain with escorting us to Lord Okami. Dalain simply handled it poorly, and we fled before he could clear up the misunderstanding.”

“But that does not change the fact that he nearly killed Ronan.”

Ashyn paused. Sabre had been emphatic on the matter, but if it had not been one of Dalain's men, then who?

She answered slowly, “It may have been one of Okami's men, but I accept that Dalain himself played no role in that. If I can speak to him, perhaps we can clear this up further.”

Her grandfather nodded slowly, his blue eyes troubled, and she braced for him to deny the request, but after a moment, he said, “His father is known as a man of great honor. I trust his son is the same. We will speak to him.”

Edwyn took her to the tent where Dalain Okami was being held. The young man lay on his back, his tunic removed, his left arm bandaged, more healing plasters on his chest. When Ashyn gave a small cry of alarm, Edwyn said, “It was a sword fight, child. He is lucky to have gotten off so easily.” Then his voice went grim as he said, “Two of our men did not. One is badly wounded. As for the other, I will be asking you to say a few words for his spirit in the morning.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“It was not you who attacked them.”

“I'm still sorry that it happened.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You have a good heart, child.”
Then, to the healer, he said, “We need to wake him. Has he stirred?”

“No, my lord. He is deeply unconscious, and I very much doubt you can rouse him, but you may certainly try.”

They did, to no avail. Dalain was alive, but indeed deeply asleep.

It is exactly like Ronan
, Ashyn thought. And then,
Is that not odd?

When she expressed concern, she said merely that she found Dalain's condition troubling, and the healer assured her that rest was simply the body's way of healing. While Ashyn knew that to be true, he did not appear to be badly injured, and when she asked about that, the healer seemed offended, as if Ashyn was questioning her diagnosis.

“Speaking of rest,” Edwyn cut in, “Ashyn needs hers. It has been a very tumultuous night, and that raises concerns about the ritual. It must be done at dawn. If we postpone it, then all the earlier rites must be repeated, which I know you do not want, Ashyn.”

She absolutely did not want that. And she could see she would get no further answers here. So she agreed to return to her tent and asked her grandfather to wake her early, so she could try to speak to Dalain again.

When she was given yet another draught of wine in her tent, she repeated the process—feign drinking it and then spit it out. Once the camp seemed to have fallen silent again, she shifted over to Tova, who was already deeply asleep.

That's not mere exhaustion. You know it is not.

Tova had been drugged. Her stomach clenched at the
word. No, not drugged. Merely given a draught to help him—

No, he had been drugged.

Could someone be trying to thwart the ritual? This was a group dedicated to caring for, and ultimately waking, dragons. Glorious in its potential. Also terrifying in its potential.

What better way to stop the ritual than to ensure Ashyn was in no shape to perform it? True, killing her would be more effective, but that only meant whoever was interfering wasn't a monster, but simply a person who thought he was doing the right thing for his empire.

Or
her
empire.

Who would have access to the sleeping draughts? Who had tended to Ronan when he'd been so deeply asleep? Who now tended to Dalain, in an equally unnatural sleep?

The healer.

Ashyn did not understand the purpose of keeping Dalain unconscious, but it was easy to see with Ronan. He had been her companion. For all the healer knew, he was her lover, too. The healer had only to suggest it might be unsafe to move him, and Ashyn would balk and the ritual would be postponed until the woman figured out a more permanent way to stop it.

Ronan had complained of his water tasting off. He'd done what she had with the wine: dumped it. And he'd woken when they'd been dealing with the fiend dogs and the healer's assistant had been killed, the healer herself with Ashyn. Leaving no one to give Ronan drugged water when he stirred.

What if the woman had done something to Ronan last night? If he had not truly left—

No, there was the note. Undeniably Ronan had left of his own volition. The healer's only tool seemed to be her sleeping draughts.

But why drug Dalain?

He must know something. Perhaps when the healer had been treating his wounds, he'd woken and . . .

Ashyn had no idea what Dalain might know or have said, but it wasn't important. Her hound was deep in a drugged sleep and could not help her. The young man who'd mistakenly come to “rescue” her was also unable to help. Two potential allies rendered useless. That had to mean something. To solve this mystery, Ashyn needed to wake Dalain.

Ashyn left Tova behind. There was nothing else she could do. By the time she decided it was safe to take a closer look at the situation with Dalain, her hound was impossible to wake. She reassured herself that his heart beat strong, and then positioned the blankets so, to anyone glancing in, she would seem to be asleep beside Tova.

She seemed to have waited exactly the right amount of time. The camp had gone silent, only a lone warrior prowling on guard duty, and the horizon showed no sign of dawn yet. With her cloak pulled tight, she darted from tent to tent, circling around while keeping out of the guard's way.

The tent where they were keeping Dalain was guarded, so she followed Sabre's example and cut a peephole in the back wall. Inside, the young warrior was alone and asleep.

Ashyn sliced a larger cut with her dagger and managed to wriggle through. There were things Ronan had taught her,
not so much intentionally, but in spite of himself. By example. How to move quietly. How to use subterfuge. And how, sometimes, to harden your heart, just a little, and do something you'd otherwise consider cruel. Like digging her dagger tip into a bruise on the side of an injured young warrior when she was unable to rouse him.

She hoped applying pressure to the spot would be enough, but he never even stirred, so she kept pressing until the sharp tip pierced the skin and Dalain woke, struggling and gnashing against the cloth she quickly shoved in his mouth. Then she leaned over, so he could see her as she whispered, “It's Ashyn.” Then, “Shhh! Please! They'll hear.”

His eyes were glazed from the sedative, and he continued to fight as she reassured him, but after a few moments, her words seemed to penetrate. He went still and looked at her. Then he lifted his head to see his hands bound on his stomach.

“Are you calm?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Do you understand that I'm here to help you?”

He nodded.

“Do you understand that there's a guard outside who is
not
here to help you?”

With his final nod, she tugged the cloth from his mouth.

“Where's Sabre?” Those were his first words, and she reassured him that Sabre was fine and had gone to find his men.

“Blast that girl,” he muttered.

Ashyn arched her brows. “For fetching your men? Being free? Or being fine?”

He muttered something under his breath. Then his gaze moved down to her hands.

“You are not a captive?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “There has been a misunderstanding. Several, it seems.”

She explained as quickly and succinctly as she could.

“Did you say . . . dragons?”

“I know it sounds mad, but they're here. A mother and her two whelps. Sleeping. I've seen them, and I've felt them breathing. Now, apparently, I'm going to wake them.”

“Wake the dragons . . .” He whispered the words, his gaze going distant, as if he was falling back into his thoughts. “Why would the Seeker be the one who can do such a thing?”

“The Seeker or the Keeper. Either of us can. While those are our titles in the empire, Seekers and Keepers can come from any region, any bloodline. They are simply twin girls with powers. In the culture of the North, one of their powers is—”

“Twins,” he breathed the word. “Yes, twins. There is a very old story. We had a bard from the North who used to say that the way to wake dragons was—”

He looked to her, his eyes wide with dawning horror. “No.” He began to struggle. “Cut my bonds, Seeker. Quickly. Please. We must get you out—”

The tent door opened. The healer came in with the guard at her shoulder. Ashyn backed up quickly, her dagger raised. The woman looked at her, no shock on her face. Just anger.

“Take her,” she said to the warrior.

“No!” Dalain said. “Ashyn, run!”

The approaching warrior blocked the door. She twisted, diving to wriggle through the hole she'd cut. The warrior grabbed her. The healer pressed a stinking cloth over her mouth. Dalain shouted, trying to tell her something, but his words were lost as she fell into darkness.

A
shyn woke staring at dragons. She flew up, expecting to find herself bound, and nearly fell onto her face when she wasn't. Hands caught her by the shoulders.

“Careful, child.”

She turned to see Edwyn. He smiled down at her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“Thank the goddess you've woken,” he said. “I'm only glad we had enough strong warriors to carry you in here.”

She was in the dragon's den. A half dozen of Edwyn's people watched her with mixtures of relief, anticipation, and concern. Three were warriors. The other three wore cowled hoods, their faces hidden, but from their shapes, two seemed to be women, the third a tall man. The flames of their torches caught the gold and jewels, and the whole room seemed to dance and glitter. Ashyn had to blink more, getting her bearings.

“Tova . . .” she whispered.

“I fear your hound is in no state to join us,” Edwyn said. “He must rest until the effects of that sleeping draught have passed.”

“Sleeping draught . . .” She struggled to remember what had happened the night before. Something about a girl. And a young warrior. A blade cutting through a tent. She rubbed her eyes hard. When she looked at Edwyn again, his face had gone solemn, his blue eyes alight with anger.

“It seems we had a traitor in our midst,” he said. “The healer sought to prevent—or delay—the ritual. I do not know her reason, but she confessed it when we could not rouse you or your hound this morning.”

Yes. The healer. She'd drugged Ronan and Tova, and she'd tried to drug Ashyn. And there was someone else. A young warrior with dark hair and gray eyes and wolves—

She looked up sharply. “Dalain Okami. Where is—?”

Edwyn's gaze shifted and she followed it to see Dalain bound and gagged on the other side of the dragons. When he saw her, he strained at his bounds, eyes wild.

He'd been trying to tell her something about raising the dragons . . .

“I must speak to him,” she said. “He does not need to be bound. It is a misunderstanding—”

“Perhaps,” Edwyn cut in. “But we believe he may have been working with our healer. There are many who oppose the very thought of dragons. It's safer to keep him bound while he bears witness.”

Ashyn stifled her protests and lowered her gaze. “As you
wish, Grandfather. I trust your judgment. After all, he did nearly kill Ronan.”

Edwyn seemed to exhale softly, as if he'd expected her to argue.

“May I do something before I begin?” Ashyn asked.

“We truly must—”

“I would feel better returning this,” she said, tugging the dove bracelet from her forearm. “I would not wish Isobo to wake and discover I have stolen it.”

“All right. Give it to—”

“I must return it from where it was taken.”

Ashyn was already walking toward the pile of treasure behind Dalain. She circled around him, turning away when he tried to motion frantically. She bent at the pile directly behind him, fussed at getting the armband off, and then set it on the pile before returning to Edwyn's side.

“You are wise,” he said. “I am proud to call you my granddaughter.”

She smiled weakly up at him. “Hopefully, you will be even prouder soon. If I can conduct my duty as you hope.”

He embraced her and whispered, “You will, child. You will.”

He led her to the dragons, had her kneel in front of Isobo, and positioned her just right.

“We don't want you to be the first thing she sees when she wakes,” he explained. “She may be hungry.”

When she looked up, startled, he chuckled and pointed at the carcass of a goat partially covered by a blanket.

“
That
will be the first thing she sees,” he said. “I should
not have jested, child. We are prepared for trouble.” He waved at the warriors. One was holding a braided rope. “But there should be little need of food or restraints. She will wake as sleepy as you were. We'll bind her respectfully and then feed her and all will be well.”

He adjusted Ashyn's position again. She was right beside the dragon, wedged in at Isobo's chest, rather like the two whelps to her right. He had Ashyn bow her head and shut her eyes, and then he chanted in the old language of the North as the others joined in.

Ashyn had words to say as well, words he'd taught her, something about entreating the goddess and asking her blessing and so on.

Instead Ashyn whispered prayers to the goddess, prayers for protection and for guidance. And if she reminded the goddess of all she had done and all she had been through and how her faith had never wavered, well, she meant no disrespect, but right now, she needed all the help she could get.

When Edwyn laid his hand on her shoulder, she began the words he'd taught her.

“Are your eyes closed, child?” he asked.

She nodded as she continued speaking.

He squeezed her shoulder. “You are trembling. With excitement I hope.”

She nodded and continued speaking, but kept her eyes the slightest bit open. In her mind, she continued her entreaties to the goddess. Protect her loyal servant. Show her the way. Show her truth from lie. But above all, protect her. Please please please—

Look, Ashyn of Edgewood. Quickly.

She heard the words whispered at her ear. A spirit's whisper. Ashyn glanced down and saw a dagger sliding around to her throat. She swallowed.

Wait, Seeker. Wait.

The dagger paused. And then . . .

Now!

She fell backward, away from the blade as it slashed toward her throat. She grabbed for it, and it felt as if her arm was pulled, guided like a puppet's, somehow managing to avoid the slashing blade and grip the hand that held it. Then she squeezed with everything she had as she heard the others cry out, heard a voice shout, “Maintain your positions!”

It was the voice of the person wielding the dagger, and even though she knew who it had to be, she'd somehow, in that moment, convinced herself she was wrong, that someone else had stepped up behind her with the dagger.

But the voice was Edwyn's. The hand she clutched was Edwyn's. The hand wielding the dagger that had nearly slit her throat was Edwyn's.

She wrenched his hand, and perhaps it was the goddess's strength that filled her or perhaps it was the simple rage of deep betrayal. She wrenched it and bone snapped and Edwyn gasped and she grabbed his dagger and spun, backing against the sleeping dragon to stare at her grandfather.

My grandfather? What proof did I have of that? None but his word and stories that could come from anyone because I know nothing of my mother's family.

She looked down at the dagger. “Blood. That's what you
needed. Not my power. My blood.”

“Your blood
is
power, child. Think of what you do for the empire. You will save it, child. Your life will save it.”

He put his hand out, as if he honestly expected her to dutifully hand over the dagger and offer her throat.

“I think the empire can save itself,” she said.

Edwyn lunged, and she stabbed him. Again, she could say the goddess guided her hand, but no. Ashyn stabbed him. Of her own volition. She felt the blade sink in, and he let out a gasp of shock and pain and then—

A cry. But not from Edwyn. Then a shout and a clatter of swords, and Ashyn looked over to see Dalain grabbing a sword from a warrior who lay on the cave floor with a dagger between his shoulder blades. Her dagger. She'd hidden it in the pile of treasure behind Dalain, as he'd looked back to watch her. She'd prayed to the goddess that he'd seen what she did and would be able to free himself without anyone noticing. That if she failed, he'd be able to get free before he became the dragon's first waking meal.

Dalain had the fallen warrior's blade and was striking a second warrior, who'd not yet recovered enough to counter the blow. The blade went in. The warrior went down. A third one attacked, and as their swords clashed, Ashyn saw Edwyn dive for her again. She darted away from the dragons, getting to open ground. That's when she saw the tall, cowled man pulling a blade from under his cloak as he moved behind Dalain, who was immersed in his fight.

“Behind you!” Ashyn shouted.

Dalain turned, and as he saw the other threat, his original
target took advantage, swinging hard. Dalain barely avoided the blow, dodging so fast he stumbled. Both men started for him and—

“Stop!” The voice rang through the cavern. A familiar voice. Wonderfully familiar.

“The next man who moves catches my dagger in his heart,” Moria's voice called from the shadows.

“Or my stone in his head,” Sabre said.

One of the warriors moved. Daigo's black shape leaped from the darkness and took the man down as Tyrus lunged.

They came out into the light then, having come through the cave passage while Dalain had been fighting. A fourth figure was still entering, and when Ashyn strained, she could hear the distant sounds of battle coming from outside.

“Step away from him,” Tyrus said to the cowled man, who still stood behind Dalain. Then, to Edwyn: “And you step farther away from her. Ashyn, are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Neither am I,” Dalain said.

“No one asked you,” Sabre said.

The fourth figure hurried through the doorway and jogged for Ashyn, and when she saw who it was, she swore her heart stopped.

“Ronan?”

“Get away from her,” Ronan said to Edwyn.

“I am far enough—”

“No, you are not, and if you give me any excuse, I swear I will kill you, old man.”

As Ronan approached Edwyn, Moria hurried over to
Ashyn. Ashyn went to embrace her twin, but Moria gripped her arms, holding them up instead so she could inspect her for hidden knife wounds.

“I'm fine, Rya,” Ashyn said. “Truly I am.”

“You were about to get your throat slit to wake dragons. That is not fine.”

Ashyn smiled. “Only if they'd succeeded.” She pulled her sister into a hug and felt Moria melt against her, trembling slightly, the only sign of how terrified she must have been.

Ashyn kissed her cheek and whispered, “I wouldn't abandon my little sister.”

“A heart-warming sentiment,” said the man in the cowl. “And I agree. You ought to leave this world as you came into it: together.”

Moria paled as she turned to the man.

“No,” she whispered.

Ashyn frowned. Yes, it was a threat, but an idle one, given that they'd vanquished Edwyn's warriors. Yet the look on Moria's face . . . Then on Tyrus's, a slow widening of his eyes, dawning recognition. And then, from across the cave, a fifth figure, running through the doorway, breathing hard as if he'd been finishing a fight outside. Ashyn saw the newcomer's familiar face and dark braids.

“Gavril?”

It was, and the look on his face as he stared at the cowled man was the worst of all. He lunged for them, shouting, “Moria!” and the cave went dark.