The Dragonprince's Heir (19 page)

Their horses served them little better than my feet in the rough countryside. They had made the most of a head start down the broad King's Way, but they'd left it before risking another town. And by the time they'd gone a mile from the road they'd apparently abandoned any fear that I might chase them. I could see that in the signs they left behind on their trail: fresh prints in cracking stream beds, horsehair tufts on thorn bushes, and the bright red apron, now soot-stained and torn, thrown aside when they stopped to lunch beside a dirty stream.

When I found the remains of their camp, coals still glowed in the cookfire they'd built, and insects hadn't yet found the apple cores they left behind. I was catching them up. I stopped long enough for a drink to quench my thirst then pounded after them.

All afternoon I followed their trail, stomach growling with hunger, head and feet both aching from the hard pace. I didn't slow. And as evening faded into dusk, I topped a little rise, looked down into a dried-out gulch, and saw them making camp against the night.

They had my tent and nothing else for shelter. Old Jim and Brady picketed the horses while the one who'd played innkeeper tried to light a fire. He was using strips of the apron as kindling. The little one with the dark hair was poking through my saddlebags, and I watched him draw out my shortbow and string it. He took a bundle of arrows, too, then exchanged a word with Brady and turned my way.

He wore my sword upon his belt. I stifled an animal snarl. The little one was coming right to me. First watch. That explained the weapons. Naturally he would come up here. It was an excellent vantage. He'd lean his back against this gnarled tree and watch the north and west for any sign of pursuit. I crouched low and slipped carefully backward. I went ten paces down the shallow slope before I could afford to rise and move more quickly.

I moved quickly indeed, then. He had my bow and my blade. He was wearing clothing good as armor. I had only flimsy sandals and tired legs. But I had righteous fury, and I had the advantage of surprise. That would serve me well enough.

I glanced back up the hill to the rise he'd have to top. He was still hidden, but I could hear the crunch of his steps. I searched the ground around my feet for something I could use as a weapon, saw what I needed, and reached it in four quick paces. I stooped, grabbed, and wasted one glance back. He was there. Ten paces up, skinny as a post, and eyes as wide as dinner plates. He'd spotted me.

But I already had my weapon in my hand. I twisted at the waist as I'd been trained. I swung with my shoulders. I stabbed my arm out straight, almost like a sword thrust, and threw the fist-sized stone. It caught him a finger's width above his right eye and dropped him like a doll.

Down in the gully, Brady called out, "Dal?" Old Jim caught on faster. He spat a vile curse. I ignored them both. I was already sprinting to the fallen form. He wasn't moving, but Caleb had always encouraged caution. I kicked him hard, right in the jaw, before I fell to my knees at his side and grabbed the bow. I had an arrow's fletchings at my ear and its broad steel tip trained on Old Jim before he'd made it within four paces of me.

He yelped and dropped to the dirt. Brady stood two paces behind him, looking shocked and stupid. The other old man was just reaching the tent to scoop up a battered crossbow already loaded. I put my arrow through his shoulder and had another ready before he'd even started screaming.

"Untie my horse," I shouted. My voice quavered, and maybe they thought it was fear. Maybe they thought it was remorse at shooting an old man. But it was rage. The fire burned hot in my veins. I had enough arrows left to kill them all before they could move. I had enough to spare that I could hurt them all first. It took everything within me to stop that arrow flying for what they'd done to me.

"Untie my horse," I barked again. "And find my boots. And my purse!" I nearly forgot the last, and I meant it more to punish them than anything else. "Brady. Do it now. Old Jim, get over there."

The old man whimpered, but he didn't move. Brady took a half step toward me, hand extended in the sort of soothing gesture he might have used with a frightened horse. "Calm down, son."

"One more step and you lose that hand." It came out a growl.

He shook his head and took another step closer. "We can sort this out."

I put the arrow through the center of his palm. He screamed and fell, clutching his hand to his chest. I turned my next arrow to Old Jim, and forced my voice steady. "You're the only one left, Jim. Go and fetch my horse."

He nodded frantically, still sprawled on the dirt. Then after a long moment he pulled himself up to his hands and knees. Then to a crouch. He kept both hands extended toward me defensively and backed away. He didn't quite meet my eyes, either. Old Jim was treating me like the animal I was.

He scrabbled in one of their saddlebags for my boots and threw them to me. They fell with a plop about a pace short of me. I might have suspected it for a gambit, but Old Jim had already turned his attention to the horses. The other old man was still screaming.

Brady had calmed himself, though. I watched him. The arrowhead had torn cleanly through his hand, but the arrow had only gone a little more than halfway before getting lodged between the small bones. He stared at his hand with morbid intensity, jaw set like stone, and scooted two paces across the earth toward a large rock.

I saw what he intended about a heartbeat before he tried it. He meant to break the arrow's shaft so he could pull it free. He braced the fletching end of the arrow against the ground and the thin wooden shaft at an angle against the stone. Then he steeled himself. His whole body went rigid. He made a fist of his good left hand and swung it hard at the arrow shaft extending above the stone.

It didn't snap. It rocked with the blow, twisting his injured hand and grinding against the bone. We take pride in our craftsmanship at the Tower of Drakes. I listened to the sound of his agony even as I turned my attention back to Old Jim.

He had my purse in one hand and the reins of my horse in the other. He inched toward me like an old retainer, eyes still downcast, extending both hands forward in offering. I flicked my eyes to the other old man, but he was still writhing. I checked on Dal at my feet, but he was out cold. I met Old Jim's eyes, and he flinched as if I'd hit him.

"I should kill you all for what you tried to do to me," I said. "There shouldn't be men like you in the world."

Old Jim shrugged bony shoulders, eyes locked on the ground, and said, "There's far more like us than there are like you, little lord. You'll know that soon enough."

He waved his offerings toward me, the reins and the jingling bag of coins, and I could see he was anxious to be done with me. I wanted to be well clear of them, too. I didn't lower the bow, though. I jerked my head toward the other old man and said, "Money in the saddlebags. Then get over there by him." He did as I directed.

I flicked my eyes around the camp again. I had no desire to linger here, but I didn't much cherish the thought of turning my back on any of them, even beaten as they were. I heard a splintering crack from the direction of Brady, barely audible over his groans, but he'd finally gotten the arrow's shaft broken. He was hard as winter. I had to give him that.

I knelt over Dal and undid my sword belt with frantic one-handed gestures. I got it free and slung it into the same open saddlebag that held my purse. Then I darted forward to get my boots. They went in the bags, too. Brady and Old Jim behaved themselves, apart from the curses Brady spat at me. I scrambled up into the saddle, and when they still hadn't made a move, I finally breathed a long sigh of relief.

"You got less than you deserved," I cried. "I should have killed you all. If I ever see you again, I will. Know it."

Old Jim bowed his head. Brady tried to spit at me. I shook my head and pointed my horse north. The low ledge with its sad little tree stood at my left, the meandering bed of a dried old river some distance off to my right, and up ahead was nothing all the way to the Tirah road but scrub and boulders.

And then, out of nowhere, I faced a dozen mounted men. They moved through the darkness with barely a sound, coming forward at an easy walk, but I saw the glint of starlight on steel among them. I wheeled my horse back toward the camp, toward the firelight, hoping to bolt south and lose them in the rougher terrain. Brady's eyes opened wide in surprised terror, and he dropped the battered crossbow he'd scooped up, but my attention wasn't on him.

Another squad of mounted men was coming up from the south. No louder than the rustle of the wind, but ten men armored and armed. They had us surrounded. I turned west, toward the last gap, but before I touched my heels to the horse's flanks, a stern voice shouted out from the north.

"Stay where you are!"

I turned in my saddle to face the dozen coming from the north. Half of them rode with shortbows ready, and something in the set of their shoulders told me I'd be a fool to risk running. They looked calm but ready.

In the heart of the line was their leader, the one who had cried out in command. He sat tall in his saddle, eyes sharp as a hawk's despite his bored expression. He reminded me somehow of Caleb. Blond hair, fair skin only lightly darkened by the sun, and dressed in far heavier armor than Caleb would have been comfortable with. He looked nothing like my solemn shadow, and yet he put me much in mind of Father's friend. He met my eyes, and I knew this man would not hesitate to kill me.

I swallowed hard and lowered my weapon. I glanced back over my shoulder, half expecting to see Old Jim rising triumphant, but I found another dozen of the armed men swarming silently over the camp behind me. They fell on Brady and Old Jim and the others with every bit as much suspicious malice as they aimed at me.

I turned back to the leader. He sniffed disdainfully and said, "Drop the bow."

"I won't," I said, "and I'm not afraid to use it."

"I know that," he said. "I've watched your handiwork closely."

A grunt from behind me drew my attention, and I found the other warriors kneeling over Old Jim, binding his hands tight behind him. Brady was already bound and looking bruised, and the still-unconscious Dal was being slung over one of the waiting horses.

I looked back to the leader. "Who are you?"

"I'll ask the questions," he barked. "And I told you to drop that bow."

I heard it in his voice this time, and I realized what it was about him that put me so much in mind of Caleb. It wasn't the accent or timbre, but the tone, all rich with righteously arrogant authority. A light touch from my boots backed my horse a step away, and I watched six arrowheads follow me. They didn't jerk. They didn't shake any more than mine had.

I sighed and dropped the bow in the dirt, then turned my hands palms up for him. "I'm unarmed," I said. "And if you've seen my handiwork, you must know I'm not the bandit here. And I know you're a lawman. So let's be reasonable."

He cocked his head, apparently surprised at my deduction. Then he turned his head slightly to the right and said, "This one's dangerous. Can you take him off the horse without killing him?"

I felt the sudden acid sear of fear shooting through my arms and legs. I shouted, "What?"

Then a quiet voice answered him from the shadows beyond the line of soldiers. "I think so, Captain."

"Good enough," the captain said. "Take him down."

The shadow raised a hand and barked a word of power. Invisible force slammed against my chest like a full-arm quarterstaff swing. I flew from my saddle, and while I yet hung in the air I felt new forces coiling around me like a snake. Fashioned air pinned my arms to my sides and bound my legs together at knees and ankles.

I hit the ground hard enough that pain stabbed through my hips and back. My skull cracked against the earth so silver-white lights flashed behind my eyes.

He had a wizard! It was senseless to even try, but I strained against the invisible bonds, and to my surprise they tore apart like paper. I felt the magic fall apart. The shadowy figure grunted as I struggled up to my knees, all too aware of the arrows still trained on my heart.

A new layer of binding magic wrapped around me, more like a blanket than fashioned chains this time, but once again I flexed my arms and broke the restraining pressure.

"Have him bound, Captain," the wizard croaked. His voice sounded strained.

"He gives you trouble?"

"I've never seen anything like it. He's...I don't...."

The captain didn't wait for a full explanation. He shouted orders, and half a dozen soldiers fell upon me, wrestling my arms behind my back and binding them with strong cords.

"Is he a wizard?" the captain asked.

"Would he have used a bow against the others?" the shadow answered. "I do not know."

"I am!" I shouted. The rope did not give at all, so I sat back on my heels and focused on my bluff. "I'm a mighty sorcerer, like my father before me. Let me go, or I'll destroy you all."

The guards unhanded me, turning their attention to the captain. They didn't shrink away or quail in fear, but they waited.

For his part, the captain did not laugh. He narrowed his eyes, considering me, and asked without turning, "Is it true?"

"It could be," the shadow answered, slow and uncertain. "And yet...there are no sorcerers. None. But I have never seen my structures melt like that."

"Yes or no?" the captain snapped. "Is he a threat?"

"I could be a powerful ally," I said. "If you would only let me go."

"Dellis?" the captain asked again.

"He is something fearsome, Captain. I can say no more. But I notice he has not yet broken mundane rope."

"I am giving you a chance," I growled. "If you drive me to use my power, you'll regret it." I strove to make the words cold and dispassionate, but I felt a quiet frenzy bubbling in the back of my head.

The captain urged his horse a step closer, eyes still boring into me. His boots crunched on the earth, closer, and then he said almost offhand, "Even a sorcerer is no threat when he is dead. Guards!"