Shapers of Darkness (11 page)

“You’re mistaken,” Tavis said, his voice unsteady.

“Got those scars from Aindreas, himself, didn’ ye? Word was ye refused t’ go t’ Glyndwr. Wen’t’ Aneira instead. Bu’ here ye’ are, walkin’ th’ highlands with yer Qirsi frien’.”

The tall man stepped closer to the leader. “If ’e’s really th’ Curgh boy,” he said in a low voice, “we shoul’ kill ’im now an’ take ’is gold. Kill th’ Qirsi, too, ’fore ’e wakes up.”

“I don’ think so. ’Is gold’s already ours, isn’t it, lad? An’ I wager ’is father th’ duke will pay a good deal more t’ get ’im back alive.” He looked at Grinsa again. “Qirsi’s another matter. Ye can kill ’im.”

A dark grin spread across the tall man’s face.

Tavis edged closer to the gleaner, his sword still raised. “No,” he said. “You can’t kill him.”

The leader looked amused. “An’ why is tha’?”

Because he’s a Weaver. Because without him all the Forelands will fall to the Qirsi renegades
. “You’re right about me. I am Tavis of Curgh, son of Javan, heir to the dukedom. And this is Fotir jal Salene, my father’s first minister. The duke sent him to Glyndwr to bring me north, so that I can fight beside the men of my house in the war against the empire.”

One of the twins shook his head. “’E’s lyin’. Thar ain’ no war.”

“Not yet, perhaps. But the Braedon fleet is poised off Galdasten’s shores, waiting for the emperor’s orders. They’ll attack soon, and when they do the entire realm will march to war.”

“I tell ye, ’e’s lyin’.”

The leader was watching Tavis, his eyes narrowed. Now he gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’ think ’e is.” He looked at the twins. “ ’Member th’ las’ time we was near th’ castle, th’ way th’ gate soldiers was turnin’ peddlers away? Lad’s right. War’s comin’.”

“Well, even so,” the tall one said, “wha’s tha’ got t’ do wi’ th’ white-hair?”

“A duke riding to war wants his ministers with him, particularly his first minister.” Tavis met the leader’s gaze, sensing
that he had the man’s interest. “My father will pay handsomely for his life as well as for mine.”

“Keepin’ th’ white-hair alive is dangerous,” the tall one said. “Le’ me kill ’im now.”

“Mos’ times I would,” the leader said, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “Bu’ look at ’im. ’E might no’ be dead, but ’e’s close.”

“Even half dead, ’e’s still a sorcerer. We should—”

“No,” the leader said, glaring at the man. “We keep them both alive.” He faced Tavis again. “Provided ye drop yer blade.”

The young lord eyed the man briefly, then glanced at the others. He might be able to kill one or two of the men, but he would never fight his way past all of them. Better to surrender now and win some time for Grinsa to recover. Exhaling, he tossed his sword to the ground.

The stout man quickly stooped to retrieve it.

The leader nodded. “Thar’s a good lad. Bind their han’s an’ feet,” he said to the twins. “An’ make sure ye take their daggers.”

“Wait!” Tavis said. “Can I check his injury first? I’ve got comfrey leaf on it, but I haven’t looked at it since last night.”

The leader’s face hardened, and the young lord thought he would refuse. After a moment, however, he gave a curt nod. “Watch ’im,” he commanded.

One of the twins took the dagger from his belt, and from the gleaner’s as well, while the other examined the pouch of comfrey before handing it to Tavis.

Grinsa’s wound seemed to be healing; certainly the swelling had gone down overnight. Tavis would have been happier had the gleaner shown some sign of awakening, but at least his injury didn’t appear to be diseased. He crushed a few fresh leaves and retied the cloth.

“Tha’s enough, noble,” one of the men said, as Tavis adjusted the bandage. “Leave ’im.”

They yanked the young lord away from Grinsa and tied his hands at the wrists, then sat him up with his back against a boulder as they bound his ankles together. When they had tied Grinsa, they stretched him out beside Tavis and walked away
to speak among themselves. After a few moments, the twins left the shelter, returning a short time later with the few items Tavis had left with the horses.

“What did you do with our mounts?” he demanded.

“I think ye mean
our
mounts,” the leader said with a smirk. “An’ wha’ we did with ’em is none o’ yer concern.”

Tavis held the man’s gaze for several moments, but looked away at last, knowing that he was powerless to keep the men from doing whatever they wished, not only with the horses, but also with Tavis and the gleaner.

“Wake up, Grinsa,” he whispered. “For pity’s sake, wake up.”

Wretched and helpless, Tavis just watched as the brigands counted out the gold he and Grinsa had been carrying, feasted on their food, and toyed with their weapons.

The morning passed slowly. Tavis struggled to free his hands, but the brigands had tied them all too well. All he succeeded in doing was chafing his wrists until they were raw and bloody. He glanced at Grinsa repeatedly, hoping the gleaner would awaken and wondering if Qirsi shaping power worked against rope.

“How’d ye do it, noble?”

Tavis looked up to find the leader watching him, his mouth full of dried meat from the kitchens of Glyndwr Castle.

“Do what?”

“Escape Kentigern, o’ course. There’s men tha’ said i’ couldn’ be done. I, myself, know o’ four men tha’ died there. None o’ them fools mind ye, and all o’ them bigger an’ stronger than ye. An’ here ye are, no’ much more ’an a boy, an’ ye got out. So I’m askin’, how’d ye do it?”

Grinsa did it
, he wanted to say.
He shattered the walls of Kentigern Castle just as he’ll shatter your skull when the time comes
. But he knew that if he gave even the barest hint of the gleaner’s abilities these men would kill the Qirsi before he ever regained consciousness. “I had help,” he replied at last, looking away. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”

The brigand laughed. “Well, I know tha’. But wha’ kind o’ help?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Tavis heard the whisper of steel. Looking at the man again, he saw him holding Grinsa’s dagger, testing the blade with his thumb, a small smile on his lips.

“ ’Cause if ye don’, I’ll kill yer frien’.”

The young lord turned away again, closing his eyes for just a moment and cursing his weakness. “There was a merchant in the city, a Qirsi. He had shaping magic. The first minister here knew of him and enlisted his help.”

“A shaper, eh? Now tha’ I believe.”

Tavis said nothing.

“Actually, we’re no’ tha’ different, are we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I never killed a girl before, but I’ve been in my share o’ prisons, an’ I’ve been a fugitive even longer ’an ye.”

He glared at the man, not caring that his hands were bound, or that the brigand held a blade. “I didn’t kill her!”

“O’ course ye didn’.” He heard disbelief in the man’s voice. The brigand was mocking him.

Tavis knew that he shouldn’t care. These men were nothing. Many of the people he needed to convince—Kearney and the other nobles, his parents, Hagan and Xaver—already believed him, and the rest would with time. That was what mattered.

But he had struggled too long to prove his innocence, and had suffered too much for being accused of Brienne’s murder. He couldn’t bring himself to suffer the man’s ridicule.

“It’s true,” he said, meeting the brigand’s gaze. “She was killed by an assassin, a man hired by the Qirsi renegades. They thought to start a civil war by pitting my house against Kentigern.”

“An’ where’s this assassin now?”

“He’s dead. I killed him on the Wethy Crown less than half a turn ago.”

The man laughed aloud. “Ye did. All b’ yerself.”

“Yes.”

He kept his eyes fixed on those of the brigand, and gradually the man’s laughter faded. “Did th’ Qirsi help ye wi’ tha’, too?”

“No.” Tavis hesitated. It was one thing to tell the man he had killed Cadel; it was quite another to claim that he had
done it without any help. But how did he explain his strange confrontation with Brienne’s killer? How did he justify killing Cadel after the assassin had lowered his blade? “I’m not sure how it happened really. The assassin . . .” He shook his head, deciding in the end that this brigand didn’t deserve any more of an explanation. “I was just lucky.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Yer a strange ’un, lad. No’ like most nobles I’ve known.” He sheathed the blade and turned away. “Give ’em some food an’ water,” he said to the nearest of the twins.

“ ’E looks well fed t’ me. ’E can go withou’ fer a time.”

The leader lunged for him, grabbing a handful of the man’s hair and pulling his face close to his own. “I said give ’im some.” He shoved the twin away, making him stumble. The man glared at him for a moment, hatred in his eyes. Then he tossed two pieces of dried meat onto the grass just in front of Tavis.

“How am I supposed to eat with my hands bound?”

The twin leered at him. “Ye can eat it like a dog, noble.”

The others laughed, including the leader. Tavis just turned his face away. No doubt there would come a time later in the day when his hunger got the better of his pride, but for now he left the meat where it was.

“Sounds like we’re having a rough time of it.”

Tavis’s eyes flew to Grinsa’s face. “Gods be praised!” he said, his voice a breathless whisper.

“Shhh.” The gleaner’s eyes were still closed, and he kept his voice so low that Tavis had to lean closer just to hear him. “What’s happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“The storm. Riding back to the cluster of boulders.”

“That’s where we are now.”

“There was a lightning strike. My mount reared. I recall nothing after that.”

“You fell, hit your head on a stone. You’ve been unconscious ever since. It seems the cluster of boulders is used as a shelter by these brigands.”

“Not one of my better ideas, eh? When was that?”

“Just yesterday. How do you feel?”

“Ay! Who’s ’e talkin’ to?” the tall brigand called before Grinsa could answer.

The nearest of the twins strode toward them. “Th’ whitehair’s awake!”

“You’re Fotir!” Tavis whispered quickly.

“What?”

The lord had no time to explain. The twin grabbed Grinsa by the collar and hoisted him into a sitting position. The gleaner let out a groan, making Tavis wonder if he was trying to fool the brigands into thinking that he was worse off than he really was. A moment later, though, Grinsa vomited down the front of his cloak. The twin took a step back.

The leader approached slowly, his blade drawn, and his eyes fixed on the gleaner.

“Ye don’ look well, Minister,” the man said. “Th’ lad will tell ye tha’ if ye stay still, an’ don’ do nothin’ foolish, ye won’ get hurt. Otherwise, I’ll kill ye. Understan’?”

Grinsa gave a small nod, then gingerly leaned his head back against the stone.

“With any luck, yer lord will pay a ransom fer both o’ ye, and we’ll be done. If no’ . . .” He shrugged.

“Water?” the gleaner asked weakly.

The brigand eyed him, frowning slightly. At last he nodded and walked away. “Give ’im some water,” he said over his shoulder. “An’ watch ’im.”

The same twin who had given Tavis the food carried over one of the water skins. He looked like he might just throw it down as he had the meat, but he appeared to realize that wouldn’t work in this case. He glanced at the leader, opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut again. In the end, he squatted down in front of the gleaner, a sour look on his face, and held the skin as Grinsa drank.

After he had moved off a short distance, Tavis asked again, “How do you feel?”

“Terrible.”

“Can you heal yourself?”

“I don’t dare try.”

“Why not?”

“Qirsi magic is controlled with the mind. My head’s been injured. Trying to heal myself would be like a surgeon operating on himself with a dulled blade. Given time, I should recover. But I’d prefer to find a healer, one of my own kind.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“You’ve kept us alive so far. I trust you’ll think of something.”

“Grinsa—”

“I may be able to shatter a blade or two, Tavis, but beyond that I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

The young lord glanced at the brigands, who were largely ignoring them. “You shouldn’t apologize. I’ve just . . . I’ve been waiting for you to wake up . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. When the time comes, shatter their limbs, not their blades. They’re carrying our weapons.”

Grinsa smiled weakly, his eyes closed again.

“Can you do anything to the ropes?”

“No. Shaping magic works best on something harder—stone, steel, rock. I can burn the ropes, but they’ll notice that.”

Tavis simply nodded, and the two of them fell into a lengthy silence. After a time, the gleaner’s breathing slowed, and Tavis guessed that he had fallen asleep. With nothing better to do, he closed his eyes as well.

He awoke with a start when someone kicked his foot. His arms and back were aching and his stomach felt sour and hollow.

“Wake up, noble.” The leader’s voice.

“I’m awake,” he said blinking his eyes against the light. The sun was just overhead, warming the boulders and grasses within the shelter.

The brigand nodded toward Grinsa. “Is ’e well ’nough t’ move?”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“I’m askin’ th’ questions, noble. Can ’e move?”

Tavis faltered, addled with sleep, and unsure of whether he and Grinsa would have a better chance of escaping if they remained where they were.

“I can move,” Grinsa said, his voice sounding stronger than it had earlier.

Tavis glanced at him, their eyes meeting. “Are you certain?”

A smile flitted across his face. “No. But I’ll try.”

Clearly the gleaner thought they’d have a better chance in open country. Tavis was in no position to argue.

“I should check his bandage before we go anywhere,” the young lord said.
Perhaps if they untied him now . . .

“No.” The brigand was eyeing them both with obvious distrust. “ ’Is bandage is fine. We’ll b’ goin’ soon.” He glanced at the strips of dried meat still lying on the ground in front of Tavis. “Ye better eat now. There’ll be nothin’ else ’til nightfall.” With that he walked away.