Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) (11 page)

“
Captain Cratt?
”

“
Inside,
”
Palle snapped.
“
Prostrated with grief. I do not have time to wait for him to recover. I want riders sent out in all directions. They are to inform every village of Prince Pirse
’
s betrayal. Send special messengers to Kings Hion and Sene with the same news. Due to the tragic circumstances, I must assume responsibility for ruling Dherrica.
”

Onarga listened to his orders with a concerned frown.
“
Sir? Wouldn
’
t it be safer for you to stay here?
”

“
Do not delay me with foolish questions!
”
Palle could not argue with her, because she was right. The last thing he wanted to do was ride in pursuit of Pirse. However, he had no choice. If Pirse surrendered peacefully and started proclaiming his innocence, there were too many people who might be inclined to believe him. Only by leading the hunt could Palle be sure that his nephew would be killed trying to evade capture. Palle needed Pirse dead. Then no one would question Palle
’
s right to be king, or wonder if Dea
’
s wounds could have been caused by something other than a dragon sword.

“
Dispatch the messengers,
”
Palle continued relentlessly,
“
then see that all of the Queen
’
s councilors are made aware of what has happened. One of them can deal with my sister
’
s body.
”

Palle signaled the guards and spurred his horse forward. Although his nephew had a few minutes
’
lead, it wouldn
’
t be difficult to find him. The sight of Prince Pirse galloping madly through the night would arouse enough curiosity to insure an easy trail. Besides, Palle knew of only two places he might go. Depending on his frame of mind, Pirse could head toward Rhenlan, intent on revenge against Hion. Of course, crossing the border was out of the question, and within a day all of Dherrica would be turned against him. Therefore, if the boy was thinking clearly, he
’
d take the road toward the one place where no troop of guards could easily follow
—
into the northern jungles.

Palle sent two of the swiftest riders ahead of the main body of the troop. They would close the gap separating them from the prince, and likely discover his intentions within a few miles.

After that, all they had to do was catch up with him.

* * *

One nineday after Princess Emlie
’
s execution passed, and then another. Dael personally escorted the Dherrican messenger to the king
’
s audience chamber, and stood by as Hion received the news of Dea
’
s tragic death at the hands of her mad son. Palle
’
s first act as King of Dherrica was to gift the contested river valley and forest to Rhenlan. Dael accompanied Damon on a tour of the border region, a show of strength and promise of protection for the battle-weary populace.

Vray did not return. No one spoke of her at court, and few in Edian itself gave a second thought to her absence. On the rare occasions that Dael heard her name mentioned in town, the curiosity was always mild and short-lived. Princess Vray was in training to be the kingdom
’
s Redmother, after all. People considered her wise to look beyond Edian, to get to know the other towns and villages and study with Red and Brownmothers throughout the kingdom. Perhaps she would even visit Sitrine or Dherrica. Didn
’
t both of Rhenlan
’
s powerful neighbors have Shaper princes of a marriageable age?

Dael heard all the good-natured speculation, and said nothing. Duty filled his days, and most of his nights. He adjusted patrol routes to include the newly
acquired territory, oversaw the training of new guards, and dealt with all the petty squabbles that ebbed and flowed in a busy capital like Edian.

Vray did not return.

* * *

Pirse took the path because it was narrow and appeared infrequently used. He had no idea where it led. That didn
’
t matter, of course, because he didn
’
t know where he was to begin with. He hardly remembered who he was. All that was important was that he keep moving. He didn
’
t remember why it was so important, but he had something to do, and he wouldn
’
t be able to do it if they caught him.

The path wound across the valley floor, crossed the wide river at an ankle-deep ford, and climbed the side of a hill. He watched his feet moving forward, first one, then the other. When the swarm of insects buzzing around his blood-matted hair became too thick to see through, he summoned up the energy to wave them away with his right hand. His left hand and arm he kept firmly pressed over the gash in his side. Despite his efforts, every other step jarred the wound. But the dull pain had been with him for so long now that it hardly registered on his over-stressed senses.

The forest teemed with life, undisturbed by the passage of one Child of the Rock. He knew how to pass through the forest without alerting its inhabitants. His pursuers did not. They would never be able to approach him undetected here. That was why he had come. He could trust the forest to hide him.

He rounded a bend in the path and stopped, swaying. Was his bleary vision failing? Staring down at the path, he thought he saw four feet, two his own dust-covered hunting boots, the other two clad in soft hide shoes. He waved feebly at the cloud of gnats and flies in front of his face, but the extra set of feet didn
’
t disappear.

“
You don
’
t look at all well.
”

Somehow he took a step back and raised his head. The owner of the voice, and the feet, was a short man with bent legs and a round, pleasantly ugly face.

“
Stay back,
”
he croaked hoarsely.

“
Watch where you
’
re
—”

His next backward step fell on the crumbling edge of the path. Below him was nothing but vertical hillside. He flailed with his right arm. The man paused in mid-sentence, grabbed Pirse
’
s arm, and hauled him forward to safety.

“
—
going,
”
the man concluded.
“
You
’
d better come inside.
”

He was short but very strong. After a few moments of unfocused and totally ineffectual resistance, Pirse found himself in the back of a cool cave, drinking from a cup of water held to his lips by the man.

“
Now I know who you are. You
’
re Pirse, the Dherrican prince. You
’
ve been very helpful, you know.
”

Hearing his name after so many days of solitude was a jolt. Pirse pushed the cup away.
“
What do you mean? Who are you?
”

“
We
’
re both dragon slayers.
”
The man put the cup aside and began unlacing the front of Pirse
’
s tunic.
“
You only kill the small physical ones, of course. But every little bit helps.
”

“
Small?
”
Pirse protested automatically.

The man pried Pirse
’
s arm gently away from his side, then tsked in disapproval.
“
I don
’
t like the look of that. You need a Greenmother. Perhaps Savyea will come.
”
He stood.
“
I
’
ll go get her.
”

“
Who are you?
”

“
Morb.
”

Pirse stared at him.
“
Grandfather
’
s wizard?
”

“
Not anymore,
”
Morb replied.
“
Don
’
t move now.
”
With that final admonition the wizard closed his eyes and vanished in a puff of greenish smoke.

Pirse closed his eyes. A wizard. He
’
d fallen into the hands of a wizard. Wild coincidence to have met anyone. Except that he didn
’
t believe in coincidence. Not where magic was concerned. His steps must have been guided by the gods
—
the callous, capricious, useless gods. Since he was a boy he
’
d been appalled by his mother
’
s lack of belief. She, and the rest of Dherrica
’
s Shapers, refused their responsibility to parent a new generation of Dreamers. He had expected King Sene of Sitrine, who had made sure his brother and sister married Keepers according to tradition, to prosper and triumph over his neighbors. But were the gods just? No. Rhenlan gained in strength and prestige, not Sitrine. The gods did nothing.

The cave smelled suddenly of mown grass and clover. A hand touched his forehead, too close to the tender skin of the knife gash there.

“
Ow!
”
He snarled and opened his eyes.

Morb stood at his feet, holding a large leather bag. The hand which left Pirse
’
s forehead to gingerly lift aside the torn shoulder of his tunic belonged to a plump, pink-cheeked woman whose unbelted black robe and peach under tunic seemed stiffly formal next to Morb
’
s bare chest and black loincloth. She had hair the color of ripe oats, cut short like a child
’
s, and she clucked over him exactly as his nursemaid had done, long ago when his biggest fears were of thunderstorms and bee stings.

“
There, there, don
’
t worry about a thing. You
’
re safe now.
”
Her smile was a delicate curving of lips framed by dimples.
“
I am Savyea. You haven
’
t been chasing dragons this far south, have you?
”

If only it were so simple!
“
No.
”

“
Well, you
’
ve certainly made a mess of yourself. Water, please.
”
She took her bag from Morb and set it on the ground next to Pirse. When she lifted the flap of the bag, a spicy, nose-tingling scent filled the air. The Greenmother brought out an earthenware mug, squat and red as a tomato, which she dipped into the large bowl of water Morb set beside her.

“
Now,
”
Savyea said, hands busily unfolding small cloth squares, each containing a different powder or leaf or seed.
“
Help me heal you. Tell me what happened.
”

Pirse turned his face away from her sharp, inquiring, black eyes.
“
Some things don
’
t heal.
”

Morb
’
s voice startled him.
“
He grieves,
”
the wizard explained.

“
For your sister, poor boy? I understand.
”

Before he could stop himself, Pirse corrected her.
“
For my mother.
”
After that he had no choice but to tell them the rest. It didn
’
t take long. Savyea seemed less interested in the ramifications of Dea
’
s murder than in hearing a precise account of when and where he had received his various injuries.

He
’
d only had two engagements with Palle
’
s guards. One had come at dawn on the first day of the chase, which had resulted in an arrow graze on the left arm for him and a dead archer for Palle. The other had taken place a nineday and six later, in which he had gone sword and knife against four guards and come away with a gash on his forehead and his side sliced open from waist to breastbone.

Days
—
two? three?
—
had passed since then. He felt more rational in the presence of the Dreamers than he had since he
’
d first fled Bronle. He could
remember his initial impulse to seek blood debt against Hion, as well as his later, bitter realization that he would have to survive his uncle
’
s pursuit first. Neither of the Dreamers, however, expressed an opinion regarding guilt, fault, or consequences. Instead, they discussed insects. Morb knew which sorts lived in the valleys and swamps Pirse had traveled. Of those, Savyea knew which carried disease. Pirse marveled that they could be so knowledgeable about such petty details, yet completely naive about the disaster that threatened the entire kingdom.