Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (19 page)

"It's never just a dream," he mumbled. Then he seemed to realize he was talking to someone else. He pushed himself to his elbows, staring at her for a moment and then jerking his gaze down. Azmei glanced down to see what he was looking at—her hands, which were propped on her thighs. "Who are you? What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm Aevver Balearic," she said. "We met yesterday, remember, friend? At the horse market. I'm camped not far away. You woke me with your screams."

"Aevver Balearic," he repeated. He shuddered and stared at her hands a moment longer. "Horse market. I remember." He wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Would you like to come share my fire, friend?" she asked, making her voice as gentle as possible. "I have tea. It might soothe you after your nightmare."

"No," he muttered. "Leave me alone."

Perhaps it was too much to expect manners from a boy who'd been mistreated as Yarro evidently had. "Very well. I'll leave you alone," she said, and rose from her crouch.

"Are you following me?" he blurted.

Azmei raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to answer the question, or leave you alone?"

"Answer."

"I am traveling to Rivarden," she said, deciding on her story at the last moment. "I don't like boats. They make me sick. So I'm not taking the canal."

Yarro looked over towards his horse. "Where's Rivarden?"

Was it possible the boy was traveling on his own with no knowledge of geography? "South of here some distance. In the desert. There are fewer people there than Meekin, but it's an important place. Have you heard of the Rivarden Push?"

His face closed. "No. Go away. I want to sleep."

Azmei laughed. He was so absurd! "All right. Pleasant dreams, friend."

She went back to her camp and poked the fire back into life. Yarro might not want a cup of tea, but she could do with one.

Chapter 15

Arisanat glanced over Baron Arkad's sparring ring and groaned. He had hoped he would be here alone, where he could run through his exercises and be done with it. But no, Razem and Hawk were sparring together, observed by a dozen or more soldiers, who were enthusiastically cheering any time one of the men scored a touch.

He would just sneak away and come back—

"Aris!" The prince sounded altogether too pleased to see him. Why did Razem insist upon being so friendly to him? Arisanat couldn't forgive him, not for failing to destroy the Strid, so he would rather not find Razem likeable.

Arisanat turned, hoping his face didn't show his reluctance. "My prince."

Razem waved him over, leaning against the fence and grinning at him. "I'm winded. Can't keep up with Commander Hawk here. Come chat with me while I catch my breath."

Arisanat glanced at Hawk quickly enough to see the other man make a face. Hawk couldn't possibly have the stamina Razem had. Years in prison, hobnobbing with the enemy, eating their food, wouldn't have given him much time for practice. Arisanat snorted softly but crossed the sand-and-sawdust practice ring to where Razem stood. Hawk went the other direction and began chatting with a group of soldiers.

A servant handed the prince a water skin. Razem drank deeply and shook his head. Arisanat wiped away the sweat droplets that hit his face.

"Were you looking for me, cousin?"

"I—yes, your highness." That was a better excuse for coming down here than the truth. "I overheard Baron Arkad telling his chamberlain we would be here a week."

"We could all use a rest, couldn't we? The food will be much better than what we've had in the last few villages."

Arisanat pursed his lips. He didn't fancy the idea of staying with Arkad another week. The man made him nervous. He saw too much. Arisanat liked him well enough, but he didn't feel safe around him. Not to mention the way Arkad hung around Hawk, talking to the man as if he were an equal.

"Spit it out, Aris. I know you've got something on your mind."

"I just—wouldn't it be better if we got to Rivarden as quickly as possible?"

"Why?"

Good question, Arisanat thought. He couldn't exactly admit that he was uneasy about Arkad's perspicacity. He rolled his eyes and huffed a sigh. "Don't tell me you're enjoying this? How can you? Gods, Razem, you and I both know you don't want peace."

"My father does." Razem took another long drink. When he lowered the water skin, he was silent for a moment. "Hawk seems to believe peace would be better."

"Than winning the war?" Arisanat blurted. "Why are we the only two who realize how stupid it is to hope for peace?"

The silence stretched out between them. Arisanat glanced to either side, wondering if someone had come within earshot. But Hawk was still talking to his soldier friends, and everyone else had maintained a polite distance from the prince. Arisanat turned back to stare at his cousin. "Gods, not you too! Raz, I thought I could count on you!"

He did, too. That was the damnable thing. Arisanat had believed he could count on Razem's hatred of the Strid. He'd been fool enough to believe he and the prince were in agreement on that. He'd founded his plans on the notion that Razem would continue his intransigent position against Strid.

"Even Arkad seems to think—"

"Spare me Arkad's opinion," Arisanat broke in. "This is dangerous. We must get you away from all of these Strid-loving peacemakers before you lose your mind entirely."

Razem managed a weak smile. "Perhaps we've all lost our minds," he mumbled. "I need to finish my exercises now that I've got my wind back. Want to join me, since you're here? Might as well take advantage of the practice ring."

Arisanat was torn between whether to fight the change of subject or to turn and leave. But that might offend Razem, now that the invitation was issued. Arisanat could argue with the prince without risking offense, but walking away... He swallowed and shrugged. "I'll need a practice sword."

Razem signaled for someone to bring them practice blades. Arisanat felt his face flush.

They sparred. Arisanat had never matched himself against Razem before, but he'd known for years that the prince must be better than he. Princes were expected to prove themselves in combat, after all, and Razem had come to the Kreyden as commander some six months after Venra's death.

Around the same time that you murdered his sister
, flashed the malicious thought, and Arisanat flinched. Only a luckily-timed feint from Razem prevented him from looking like a madman.
Stop thinking,
he told himself. There was no reason for him to begin feeling guilty now.

Any guiltier than he already did, at least.

Razem beat him handily. At least the soldiers weren't shouting encouragement or cheering either of them. They'd wandered off to their own tasks, for the most part. Arisanat was uncomfortably aware of Hawk watching from the ringside, but at least he was silent until the end.

"It was well fought," Razem told Arisanat, smiling at him and holding out the water skin.

Arisanat shook his head, but he took the water. "It wasn't. I'm an engineer, not a swordsman. You don't have to spare my feelings."

Razem sighed but didn't answer.

"You pull your strokes," Hawk said. His voice was quiet, but it cut through their conversation like a blade. "Are you afraid of killing the prince? He's skilled enough to turn aside your practice blade, my lord. If you must fight, you should fight whole-heartedly."

Arisanat glared at him. "I don't recall asking for your opinion, Commander Hawk."

Razem gave him a sharp look, but his voice was mild when he said, "And what is my weakness, Hawk?"

"You signal your moves whenever you play to the left," Hawk said without hesitation. "It could cost you your life, highness."

"As a soldier," Arisanat said coldly, "your job is to make certain the prince is never in danger of that." He shoved the practice blade into Hawk's hands, ashamed at his rudeness but unable to resist. "Razem, please consider my words. Arkad's estate is in the middle of nowhere. The food might be better here than the villages, but at least let's get back to a city with real civilization."

The prince was watching him with an unpleasantly speculative expression, but he laughed at this. "I have considered them, Aris. Very well, we'll on to the Desert Jewel. Not tomorrow; Kho'll need more time to resupply his army. But the next day."

***

The night before they were to leave Baron Arkad's estate to continue to Rivarden, the baron threw Hawk a feast. He'd forgone it when they arrived, saying they were all too tired to enjoy it, and there would be time later. Hawk wasn't sure he was going to enjoy it any more now that they'd rested a few days, but he resigned himself to being shown off yet again.

He took his time dressing, amusing himself by thinking of possible excuses to miss the feast when he was the guest of honor. He could claim a sudden stomach trouble—
brought on by Arisanat's sour looks,
suggested a cynical voice in the back of his mind. Or perhaps he could contrive to fall down the steps just enough to give himself a mild concussion? But no, they would only prolong their stay while he recovered, and Arkad would likely have the feast anyway.

"Perhaps I should throw myself from the tower and be done with it," he muttered, and stalked out of his rooms to join the others.

The feast was not as painful as he had been dreading, but while Arkad managed to avoid the singing of ballads, warlike, lamenting, or otherwise, he hadn't been able to stop Razem from waxing eloquent about Hawk's courage in captivity, the stalwart faith he kept with his king and country, and what a blessing from the gods it was that Hawk had returned to them. Hawk barely managed to keep a straight face throughout the entire speech.

When they were finally free to disperse to their own amusements, Arisanat was the first to shove his chair back. He stood and turned his back on the crowd, so only Hawk and Kho could see the fury that contorted his face.

"Do not suppose the prince's pretty words means you are trusted, Commander Hawk. I am watching you, and I, at least, am not so easily fooled as my cousin. I know you for the cowardly turncoat you are, and I will see it proven."

Hawk stared at him, unable to quite cover how deeply the words cut. He swallowed and lowered his gaze to Arisanat's shoulder, trying to master himself. "I am sorry you feel so strongly, my lord," he said softly. "I will endeavor to be living proof of my loyalty."

Arisanat snorted and stalked off. To Hawk's surprise, Kho snorted too and stood, his chair scraping loudly on the marble floor of the banquet hall. His dark face was twisted in an emotion Hawk couldn't quite read. Anger? Impatience? Disgust? Kho met Hawk's inquisitive gaze with one of withering scorn and strode out of the hall.

It was too much. Hatred from Venra's brother was hurtful, but could be borne. But the treatment Hawk had been receiving at the hands of the man who had once been his dearest friend? That could no longer be tolerated. Hawk muttered a hasty excuse to the prince, who was thankfully involved in a conversation with Arkad and had missed the confrontation. Then he scrambled after Kho.

The black man had long legs. They and his temper had carried him down a long passageway and out into a long, covered portico. Hawk stopped, breathing hard, when he saw Kho standing with his head down, fists clenched at his sides.

"Emran, what is wrong?" he demanded.

Kho swung around to face him. "You," he said in disgust. "You and this sickening lack of self-worth you have been displaying from the moment you got back."

Hawk squinted, wishing the lanterns lining the portico weren't so dim. He couldn't read Kho's expression. "I...I don't understand. I am truly fortunate the prince and first lord have been so accommo—"

"Spare me the platitudes!" Kho laughed in disbelief. "Sleeping gods witness, I cannot tell if you truly believe that, or if six years in a Strid dungeon have made a wittering sycophant of you."

"It was a fairly nice room, actually. Not a dungeon at all." Hawk was surprised to find it was difficult to answer mildly. Kho thought he was being
sycophantic
?

"That isn't the point!" Kho's voice was low and furious. "Jacin, you were once in command of this whole damned district. You pointed and said
Go there
and men went there and
died
there. And what's more, they were happy to die for you. They fought for the Desert Hawk, not for Tamnen or the wealth of the mines or anything like that. The king knew it. Hells below, even the Strid knew it! You were so brilliant they could only defeat you by treachery!"

Hawk stared at him. Kho was clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Stop acting as if you are an inconsequential nobody." Kho ran out of breath and stopped talking.

Hawk cleared his throat. "I...clearly I was easily replaced. You have all been fine without me. Colonel Tropas—"

"Has been nothing more than adequate," Kho interrupted. "And I have lost a princess on my watch. Quit being such an idiot."

Hawk couldn't help himself. "I wouldn't have kept the princess had I been free," he said dryly. "As I hear it, she was in Ranarr when—"

Kho growled in frustration. "Stop. Talking."

Hawk stopped talking.

"Just—stay there." Kho stomped off back the way they had come. Hawk turned in place to watch him go. He couldn't remember ever seeing his friend so angry, in all the years they had known one another. He had always been able to count on Kho to be patient, even mild. What had happened to him?

He was still lost in thought when Kho came back, a bottle of tawny-colored liquid in one hand and two glasses in the other. "Sit down."

Hawk glanced around, saw a bench a few feet away, and sat.

"Drink this and just—just
listen
for once." Kho's voice was thick, but Hawk was beginning to grow irritated. He drank obediently, but glared at Kho over the edge. Oddly, that seemed to relax Kho just a little.

"Jacin, the point isn't whether Rivarden or the Kreyden—or even Tamnen herself—managed after your capture." He glared back at Hawk, but few people could meet Hawk's gaze for long when he let his temper show. After just a few heartbeats, Kho looked away. "So what if Tamnen managed all right? The thing is,
I didn't
."

He choked on the words and took a long drink. "I missed you. I missed your counsel. I missed your stupid lack of humor. I missed the way I knew you would always be at my back if I needed it, just as I—" He broke off and swore, then took another gulp of his drink.

When Kho spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I failed you. We just assumed you were dead. We didn't look for you. I abandoned you and all the other wounded on the battlefield." He squeezed his eyes shut, then forced himself to look at Hawk again. "And when we learned otherwise, we were hearing it from a damned Strid emissary. Too damn late."

Hawk opened his mouth, but Kho didn't let him speak.

"Shut up!"

Hawk shut up. Again. He clenched his jaw, smoldering.