Forest of Ruin (4 page)

“How old is it?” she asked.

“Ages.”

Ashyn smiled. “Moria will be disappointed. They were selling dragon eggs in the city, and I could tell she was tempted. She might know they're simply pretty rocks, but still . . . the possibility . . .”

“Yes,” he said, returning her smile. “That possibility keeps many a shady merchant in business. They are very pretty rocks, though. Nothing like real dragon eggs.”

“There are real—?” She stopped and nodded. “Fossilized.”

“You've heard of such a thing?”

“The process, yes. I grew up in the Wastes. After the volcanos erupted, the cooling lava left many petrified remains. Traders used to come and collect stone-hardened beasts to sell
as monsters. Never dragon eggs, though. The stones were too dull for that. I suppose real fossilized eggs
would
look dull.”

“They do, though if broken open, they are a thing of beauty. Every color, like diamonds refracting the light. Not that we would ever break an egg, but sometimes they are discovered already shattered.”

“Who discovers them?”

He didn't answer, instead walking to the skull. “Your sister is called the Keeper. Ironic, because that is her true heritage—yours and hers both. Our family's heritage. The keepers of dragons.” He walked to the skull and touched the snout. “Keepers of memories now and keepers of bones. Or so most believe. But the truth, child? The truth is that we keep so much more.”

He ran his finger over one front fang. “You spoke earlier of your powers. Yes, you have powers over spirits, and in the empire, where spirits are the subject of religion, that is what they focus on. It is the manifestation of your connection to the imperial goddess. But there are other faces to the goddess. Sometimes she is not even a goddess but a god. A supreme power that men and women recognize as their faith tells them to.” He looked over at her. “Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“I . . . I think so. Many people worship a deity, and you believe it is the same one, with different names and faces.”

A broad smile. “You are indeed clever, child. That is a concept rarely understood by people twice your age.”

“Perhaps it's not so much a matter of understanding as of accepting.”

“Clever and wise. So the empire has its goddess, who rules the second world. She is also associated with dragons, particularly under the rule of the Tatsu clan.”

“Because the dragon is their totem, so it benefits the emperor to strengthen that connection.”

“Do you know where that connection comes from?” He did not wait for her to answer. “From the North. Our goddess is the queen of dragons. And in our world, twin girls born blessed of the goddess have a special gift, beyond the ability to hear the dead.”

He took her hand then, his fingers warm and surprisingly strong as he moved her to stand with him in front of the gaping jaws, both gazing up in awe at the beast before them. Then, still holding her hand, Edwyn leaned down and whispered in her ear, “They have the power to wake dragons.”

M
oria woke with her hands bound and her head pounding. Her first thought was of the dungeon, of the cold and the dark and the terror, and she was certain she was back there, and she tried to jump upright and—

A whinny. She barely had time to realize she'd been lying over a horse like a sack of rice before she was flying clear, hearing a shout of “Moria!” as she struck the ground hard enough to jolt her out of consciousness. She came to lying against someone's chest, an arm holding her up, a voice saying, “Moria? Are you all right?” Green eyes over hers. Dark braids brushing her face. And again, another flash of treacherous memory, and she was back in the Wastes, and Gavril was there, and they had just fought the thunder hawk and . . .

Then the rest tumbled back like rocks down a cliffside, bashing her, each blow bringing fresh pain, and she slammed
her fists into Gavril's stomach and scrambled off his lap.

“You cannot run, Keeper,” he said.

“No, truly?” She lifted her bound hands. “That much is obvious. I'm no fool, whatever you may think of my intelligence.”

“For my father's sake, I pretended to dismiss your intellect.”

“You've
always
made your opinion of it perfectly clear.”

He sighed. “I've needled you, but I do not think you a fool. Your intelligence is above average. Not as high as your sister's . . .”

“You do not even know how to pay a compliment without lacing it in insult.”

“Your sister is simply more book-learned than you. Perhaps that does not imply a difference in innate intelligence. You were wombmates, after all. One might presume your fundamental capacities are as identical as your appearance, and the difference lies in what you do with those then.”

“Enough. Stick to insults, Kitsune. They're shorter.” She lifted her hands. “Now untie me so I may ride.” When he hesitated, she said, “I gave my word that I'd go with you. You will untie me, and you will return my dagger.”

“I cannot—”

She smashed her fists into his gut again, and when he stumbled, she leaped on him, toppling him to the ground. Before he could strike, she was crouched on his chest, her bound hands at his neck, the rope cutting into his throat.

“You will untie me, and you will return my dagger. I do not need either to kill you.” She pressed down harder, making him gasp. “Nod when you agree.”

He shook his head and managed to say, “You will not find him.”

“As hard as it is for me to be separated from Daigo, I will not attempt.”

“You'll return and try to free Daigo and Tyrus. Then you'll go after your sister.”

“Truly? You do think me a fool. A mad child who believes she can outwit the emperor and free an imperial prince from captivity. Then they'll run off together through the empire, hoping to trip over her missing sister by sheer luck, apparently.”

“I know you, Moria. You are impetuous and obstinate, and your actions often ill-conceived.”

“Enough with the flattery, Kitsune. I am no longer the child who flits after butterflies. I have endured enough in the past moon to ensure I'll never be that girl again.”

A look passed over his face. Something almost like grief, gone too fast for her to see more than a flicker.

“I would have it any other way, Keeper,” he said, his voice low. “I know you have suffered greatly.”

“Spare me false sympathy. You do it as poorly as flattery, and I require neither. I am not the girl I was, and I will not dash off into the forest at the first opportunity. Nor will I ram my dagger into your back the moment you turn it. I could kill you now if I wished. I do not, for the same reason I stopped Tyrus from ending your life. Because we would suffer for it much longer than you would. It's no small thing to take a life. I understand that now.”

Another flicker of emotion. “You've taken—”

“It is a war, Gavril. That's what happens when you launch
one. Now, do I get my dagger?”

Silence. Then, “If I return it, will you let me speak as we ride?”

“I cannot stop you from speaking. However, if you insist on defending your actions, you may not want to return my dagger, or my impetuous nature might win out.”

More silence.

“I wish my hands freed,” she continued. “I wish my dagger returned. And I do not wish to hear your voice. If you can grant these, you will find you have a riding companion as quiet and courteous as Ashyn. If you cannot, you will be reminded that I am not my sister.”

Gavril agreed.

They stopped for the night. They had no tent to sleep in. No blankets either. When Moria went to lie on the cold ground, Gavril said, “I have something for you.”

She turned away, ignoring him. He rustled in his horse pack, and when he came and crouched in front of her, she kept her eyes shut. But then she caught a whiff of tanned leather and ermine fur and campfire smoke.

Her eyes flew open to see him holding her cloak. The one she thought had been left on a bloodied battlefield when she'd been thrown into the dungeon.

The last gift from her father. She'd been wearing her old cloak when she'd fought the thing that had possessed her father's corpse. The shadow stalker had grabbed her right before she banished it, and the last she'd seen of her cloak, it was clutched in the gnarled, misshapen claw of the monster
her father had become. Covered in his blood. She'd refused to return for it, and Gavril had insisted they take a new one from her father's shop. He'd found this on the shelf. A wrapped gift from her father. Her Fire Festival present, complete with the last words she'd ever have from him.

Losing that cloak had physically hurt, like having the last piece of her father wrenched from her grasp.

“They found it near the battlefield,” Gavril said. “One of the men who brought you to my father had taken it for his wife. I recognized it and bribed him for its return. I know how much it means to you.”

“Yes, it means a great deal. Which makes it valuable, does it not?” She lifted her gaze to his. “A tool to control me?”

Gavril rocked back on his haunches. “Blast it, Moria. I cannot do one kind thing, can I?”

“Because you do not do kind things, Gavril. Even at your best, you do not, and so I will suspect everyone.”

He lowered himself, cross-legged, to the ground beside her. “We are embarking on a very dangerous mission, Moria. Together. It will be as it was in the Wastes, where you must watch my back and I must watch yours. Where we must trust each other.”

“
Trust
you—?”

“Within those walls, there will be only two people you can count on. Myself and Rametta. And while Rametta is loyal to me and fond of you, we cannot involve her in the heart of this deception.”

“Thank you for the cloak. It is appreciated.”

She took it and stretched it out on the ground. Then she
lay down with her back to Gavril.

“We need to speak of this eventually, Keeper,” he said.

“No, you need merely to provide me with the script for my performance. My life depends on carrying it out. That is all the motivation I require.”

G
avril had stalked off into the night. Perhaps he was scouting. Perhaps he was performing his nightly ablutions. Perhaps he was sulking. Moria did not care. She was drifting toward sleep when she heard a footfall. It was not the crunch of a rock or the crack of a stick under a misplaced step. Not even the whisper of dry grass. Simply the faint movement of soil beneath a foot. Which meant it was not Gavril, who would make no pains to cover his approach.

Moria pulled her dagger and opened her eyes just enough to peer out. It was a dark night, unlit by stars or moon. They'd camped well off the road, on a barren patch, with the forest at least twenty paces away, making it impossible for anyone to sneak up. Yet someone was, even if the horses didn't stir.

Moria kept her eyes open just enough to watch, and finally she made out a dark shape against the dark night. She shot up, her dagger ready.

“You are far too good at this game, little Keeper,” sighed a softly lilting voice.

“Or you need more practice playing it, Sabre.”

“True.”

The figure moved closer, still bent, until she reached Moria and lowered herself to the ground. A girl of about eighteen summers, with gray-blue eyes; wild, dark curls; and skin somewhere between copper and bronze. They'd met only briefly, earlier that day, under remarkably similar circumstances, as Moria and Tyrus had been making their way to the Okami compound.

“At least I didn't end up flat on my back under your wildcat this time,” Sabre said.

When Moria tensed, Sabre's smile vanished, her look uncharacteristically somber. “My apologies, Keeper. That was ill-considered. Perhaps I can acquit myself of the offense with the reassurance that your beast is well. As is Tyrus. They'll wear ruts in the confinement house from their pacing, but they are fine, and they are together. They are safe, as well. I may not be as fond of the emperor as a citizen ought to be, but he would never harm his son nor anyone his son cared for, including a wildcat.” Sabre rose to a crouch. “If you wish to flee, your captor is well enough away that we may do it if we act quickly.”

When Moria didn't respond, Sabre settled in again. “The fact that you were already remaining here, when he is not, suggests you have no intention of escaping.”

“If Tyrus expects—”

“He does not. He hopes you will escape, for your own safety, but he would not in your place and so he does not expect you to. I simply offered to help if you wished to go.” Her gray
eyes met Moria's. “You make a hard choice, little Keeper.”

“I make the only choice.”

“There are always others.”

“Then I make the only one I can.”

“That is a very different thing. You are a fine match for the prince.” She smiled. “Or for the prince he has become. You'd not have been a fine match for the silly boy I remember. He has matured, thank the ancestors.”

Sabre tilted her head, lips pursing. “I ought to qualify that by pointing out that any admiration I have for the prince is like the admiration I might have for a brother, not for a handsome young man. You've nothing to fear from me there.” She leaned down. “And you would do well to play to my ego by expressing relief at that, as if you were genuinely concerned.”

Moria gave a small laugh. “I might have been . . . if I did not suspect your eye looked closer to the Okami compound.”

“Dalain?” Sabre snorted and rolled her eyes. “Let's simply say that while I'm pleased to see how much the little prince has matured, I regret that I cannot say the same for his former blade instructor. And from what I heard of that fight before you left, the student has surpassed the teacher in that, too.”

“Tyrus is a very fine swordsman.”

“Is he?” Sabre's eyes sparkled wickedly.

Moria laughed. “I do not know about
that
, though I have high hopes of surviving this ordeal long enough to find out.”

Sabre grinned. “Oh, I do like you. The court girls I've met would faint if I asked such a thing. Now I truly do regret that you won't come with me. We would have a fine time—”

They caught the sound of footfalls at the same moment,
and both stood as a tall figure ran toward them, his blade in hand.

“Stop there, traitor,” Sabre said, raising her sling. “Or I'll fell you before you take another step.”

“The advantage of a missile weapon,” Moria said.

“Exactly. And it appears he has enough experience with yours to respect mine.”

“No, he'll only pretend he's listening, as he talks and distracts, and then creeps close enough to use his sword.”

“I can hear you,” Gavril called.

“Good,” Moria said. “Then you can hear that I'm not under any duress, and you can presume that if our visitor was helping me escape, we'd be gone by now, not chatting like girls at a tea ceremony. Since I know you'll not stay where you are, you may approach half the distance, then lay down your sword and come closer.”

“May I?”

“Only if you behave. And keep quiet. Otherwise, stay where you are.”

“I think you forget who is—”

“—in charge here? No, Kitsune, I do not. I am in charge, because if you do not return with me, you will pay the price. That is why you've accommodated me so far and it's why you'll continue to do so now.”

Sabre chuckled. Gavril stalked closer.

“I'll not lay down my sword, Keeper,” he said as he sheathed it. “I will concede to your demands by keeping my hand from the hilt.”

He didn't wait for a reply, only walked to them, his arms
crossed, presumably to keep his hands from his hilt, though the stance complemented his scowl quite well.

“Gavril Kitsune,” Sabre said as he approached. “I almost feel I know you. When Tyrus was apprenticed to the Okamis, he spoke so highly of you. Such a good friend.” She glanced at Moria. “Did I mention Tyrus was quite a silly boy? Very gullible.”

“Whoever you are, I presume you have come for some purpose other than needling me?”

Sabre lowered herself to the ground. Gavril remained standing.

“This is Sabre,” Moria said. “She is—”

“The bandit king's daughter,” Gavril cut in.

“My father is no bandit,” Sabre said hotly. “He is a nomadic tribal chieftain.” She paused. “Though if he were a bandit, I do rather like the title of
king
. Would that make me a bandit princess?”

“Tyrus said you like to talk,” Gavril said.

“I take that as a compliment. As for why I am here, as I told the young Keeper, I was sent by her prince to set her free and accompany her on the search for her sister. However, being not nearly as silly a boy as he once was, Tyrus realized there was little chance Moria would abandon this duty. He merely wished to ensure she had the opportunity. More important, he wished her to know that Lord Okami is taking the hunt for her sister very seriously. So is the emperor, but right now, Tyrus has more faith in the family that hosted his apprenticeship. Lord Okami sent his best hunters and tracking hounds. The mission is being led by Dalain, since he
was the one who
lost
the Keeper's sister. I will be joining him as soon as I can. Whether he wants it or not.” She grinned. “Almost assuredly not.”

Gavril opened his mouth, but Sabre continued. “I am asking my father to send men as well. The Okamis are fine hunters . . . when the prey is a giant pig. My father's men have more flexible talents.”

“More experience tracking humans?” Moria said with a smile.

“I admit nothing, little Keeper. I only say that my tribe are excellent trackers and that with my assistance, even Dalain cannot botch this too badly.”

“You have a high opinion of yourself,” Gavril said.

“I do. Thank you. Now, if you are reassured that we're not preparing to flee into the night . . .” She flicked her fingers. “Away with you. We are talking.”

“I wished to ask about Tyrus.” Gavril cleared his throat. “The fight . . . It was . . .” He straightened, that cool look returning. “He is as impetuous as the Keeper, and his actions often as ill-advised. Taking on three warriors was madness, and while he did not seem injured . . .”

“Tyrus is an excellent swordsman,” Sabre said, straight-faced. “Or so I've heard.”

“Yes, I know he is,” Gavril said impatiently.

“Do you?” Sabre's brows shot up, that wicked look returning.

Gavril scowled. “Of course. We were sparring partners for many summers.”

Sabre choked on her laugh as Moria tried to keep a straight
face, failing miserably, and joining Sabre as Gavril's scowl deepened.

“I don't know what you both find so amusing,” he said. “If you're suggesting I was a poor match, while I am clearly no longer on his level, Moria knows my prowess is—”

“Stop,” Moria said, holding up her hands. “Please. Stop that sentence there. Now, you were asking whether Tyrus is well. Sabre has assured me he is, and I will refrain from adding that you've forfeited the right to show concern about his well-being.”

“You did add it.”

Moria turned to Sabre. “I appreciate all the news you have brought.”

“You are most welcome, my lady.”

“Moria, please.”

“I have one more task to carry out before I go, Moria.” She turned to Gavril. “You may leave us.”

“I may . . . but I will not.”

“Ignore him,” Moria said. “I do. As much as possible.”

“I do not blame you. He seems very ill-tempered. Traitors ought to be more charming or they'll never woo anyone to their side.” She turned to Gavril. “Is your father more charming?”

“I do not wish to speak of my father.”

“I don't blame you. I ought to thank you, Gavril Kitsune, for teaching me a valuable lesson. I may bristle at hearing my father called a bandit, but at least he has never betrayed the empire. Nor massacred innocents. Nor—”

“Enough,” Gavril said, between his teeth. “I have no illusions about my father, and you waste valuable resting time
cataloging his crimes to me. Tell Moria what you need to tell her and be gone.”

“He is a very poor host,” Sabre said.

“You have no idea how poor,” Moria said, looking at Gavril.

“Finish your business,” Gavril said. “Quickly.”

Sabre reached under her cloak and took out something. In the darkness, Moria could only make out that it seemed to be a strip of cloth. Then Sabre opened her hand, and Moria saw a red silk band with tasseled ends. Tyrus's name was embroidered across it.

“That's . . .” she began, and her breath caught. “Tyrus's amulet band.” His mother had given it to him. It was an old custom—long out of fashion—but he wore it faithfully, tied around his upper arm.

“He wanted to give it to you before you left,” Sabre said. “But he lost consciousness. He asked me to bring it to you.”

“No.” Moria reached out quickly and closed Sabre's hand around the band. “Return it to him. Please. He ought to be the one wearing it. Especially now. It will protect him.”

Gavril snorted. “Superstitious nonsense. You are as bad as he is, Keeper, with your stories and your—”

She turned sharply on him. “I am well aware that the band is likely little more than superstition. The point is that Tyrus believes it works, and if he believes it helps the ancestors protect him—”

“Then he is all the more likely to engage in foolhardy recklessness.”

“No, then he is more confident in his abilities.”

“Which makes him more reckless.”

“You both make very interesting points,” Sabre said. “But I will make another. If Tyrus is sick with worry about you, Moria, and he believes this will help keep you safe, is it not better if he knows you wear it?”

“She cannot,” Gavril said. “My father might discover it. Tell Tyrus you delivered it, and keep it safe for him.”

“You wish me to lie to an imperial prince?”

“I suspect that offends your sensibilities less than it ought,” Gavril said dryly.

“True,” she said. “I do not in
principle
have a problem with lying to an imperial prince. But I will not lie to a friend.”

“Nor will I lie to Tyrus and pretend I took it,” Moria said.

“It is settled then,” Sabre said. “Push up your sleeve.”

Moria did and Sabre tried to tie the band, Moria instructing her and Sabre fumbling and cursing, until Gavril said, “We'll be up all night at this pace. I'll do it. I've tied it for Tyrus before.”

He crouched beside Moria and tied it. Then he tugged her sleeve over it. When the ends showed, he shoved the sleeve up and wound the tassels through the band.

“With that, I will take my leave,” Sabre said. “I'll report to the prince that you wear his band, and he will rest easier.” She squeezed Moria's hand. “Take care, little Keeper.” And then to Gavril, she said, “As for you, I would say to take care of her, but I'm not sure that is wise.”

“I am perfectly capable of looking out for her.”

“Not what I mean.” Her gaze lifted to Gavril's. “I've said I count the prince as a friend. And anyone with eyes can see the depth of his regard for the Keeper. Watch yourself.”

“I've said I'll not harm her nor allow harm to come to her, and I do not require the threat of Tyrus's vengeance—”

“I cannot tell if you are as obtuse as you seem or only play the part.”

Gavril's eyes flashed. “I understand you perfectly, and I will take care of the Keeper.”

Sabre sighed. “You understand me not at all. Foolish child.”

She stood, and they watched her lope off into the darkness. Then Gavril opened his pack and took out dried fruit, fish, and rice balls. Moria did not consider refusing. It would do no good, and regardless of Gavril's promises, she was not convinced she'd get proper meals once inside Alvar Kitsune's camp.