Bloodsongs (3 page)

He said, “Dance for me, Mother!”

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

His eyes were greener than a stormy sea, more striking even than her own, mysterious eyes full of secrets. They seemed to drink her spirit and her vitality. She studied his face, so young yet so rugged and weathered, beardless. He regarded her over the rim of his mug, sipping his beer, waiting for her to speak. She felt clumsy and tongue-tied, wanting to hold her son, but afraid to hold him.

“I've missed you,” he said, leaning on his elbows, bringing his face a little closer to hers across the rough table.

She squirmed uneasily on the hard bench. There was a faint foulness to his breath, but it wasn't quite unpersonable. She forced the barest smile in response to his lie. Had he missed her, he would have found opportunity in the past five years to visit or, at least, to let her know he lived. So young when he ran away, just Kirigi's age, without money or weapon or farewell.

Her lower lip trembled with a mixed anger and joy. “I didn't know if you were alive or dead.” She swallowed hard and looked away to the inn's farthest corner, cursing an inward chill. “Why have you come back, Kel?”

He blinked, set down his mug. “To see you, Mother, of course.”

Her eyes sought all the dark corners and distant places. “Just me?” she said. “Not your father and your brother?”

“Father, yes, I want to see him, too!” He took another drink of his beer. “Kirigi's not my brother.”

She avoided his eyes no longer but sought them out, fixed him with a hard look. “He is your brother!” she hissed under her breath. “As much a brother as you'll ever have!”

“We're not the same flesh!” he answered sharply, glancing around to be sure Kirigi was still out of earshot.

“Your father and I loved him!” She was nearly on her feet, bending over the table, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge for support. “There could be no more babies after you. We thought you were the last and the only until Kimon found Kirigi.”

He slammed the mug down, sloshing the contents. “Wasn't I enough? Didn't I love you enough? Couldn't you love me?”

She ran a hand through her hair as she shook her head. “Oh, Kel, we did love you with all our hearts. Taking in Kirigi didn't lessen that love. He was a little boy left behind by one of the caravans. There was more than enough room in our lives for two sons.”

Kel got up and walked to an unshuttered window. “You didn't need me around. He took my place.”

“No, he never.” She went to him, put her hands on his shoulders, laid her cheek on his broad back. “He never took your place, son. He made his own place.”

He turned. Their arms went around each other, and sudden tears streamed soundlessly down her face. “I'm so sorry,” she managed, looking up, stroking his cheek with one shivering hand. “I spoke too harshly. I know how hurt you were; that was why you left.” She stepped back and wiped her eyes. “But let's be kind now. We won't talk about it anymore.”

She hugged him again, glad at last to hold her son after so many long years.

The back door opened, closed. Kirigi bounced in, exuberant and grinning, smelling faintly of the stables. He'd taken time to dress in short pants and a belted tunic. A few pieces of straw and manure clung to the soles of his boots. “A beautiful mare!” he exclaimed to Samidar. “White as the mountain snows!”

Kel forced a grin and said to his mother, “When did he ever see snow in the mountains?”

She shrugged, matching his grin.

Kirigi disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a platter of cold meats left from the previous night's roasts, some slices of bread, and a pitcher of cool water. He placed it all on the table and beckoned them to breakfast.

“What's it like in the army?” he asked Kel, stuffing a chunk of beef into his mouth, sputtering as he added, “I'll bet it's great. We didn't know you were still in the country. Are you stationed close? Can you come home more often?”

Kel's grin widened. He looked tolerantly at his mother and helped himself to bread. He chewed quietly until a glance from Samidar warned Kirigi to silence. “Give your brother a chance to answer,” she chided.

Kel leaned back, chewed a mouthful, and washed it down with beer. “Riothamus is a madman,” he said at last, “a butcher. He suppresses the people. Keled-Zaram trembles under his hard rule, and his soldiers commit horrors in his name.”

Kirigi leaned forward. “What are you talking about? You serve in his army. What suppression?”

Samidar touched her younger son's shoulder, and he fell quiet once again. “You wear Riothamus's uniform,” she pointed out.

“A man must eat.” There was harshness in his words. “I've known hunger, Mother, and felt its claws rake my empty belly. The king pays his men well. That's why we obey him.” He took another drink and set the empty mug aside.

“We're seldom touched by affairs in the capital,” she told him. “Dashrani is a quiet town, and for the most part ignored by Riothamus. There's no longer even a garrison in the city. The gates stand open and no sentries walk the walls.” She looked down at her hands, then into his eyes. “Still, we've heard rumors, and there've been soldiers prowling around lately.”

“Searching for the rebels.” he confided. “Their leader is reported to be in this area, a sorcerer called Oroladian.”

Her brow furrowed. “A sorcerer?”

Kel filled his mug with water from the pitcher. “Not much is known about the leader. We don't even know what he looks like.” He shrugged. “Riothamus hunts him anyway. It's all madness.”

“Why don't you quit?” Kirigi asked innocently, reaching for another slice of meat.

Kel regarded him through narrowed slits. “Maybe I will soon,” he said, then drank deeply.

“Mother?” Kirigi's hand halted before the meat reached his mouth. “You're pale! What's wrong?”

Samidar got up, crossed the room to the door, and gazed into the distant hills now crowned with the glory of the full sun. “You said a sorcerer?”

Kel turned on the bench. “Kirigi's right. You look like you've just caught a new glimpse of hell.”

She wrapped her arms about herself and leaned against the jamb, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against a very private dread. “I've seen hell before,” she said, “and it didn't frighten me nearly as much as your news.” She opened her eyes and stared through a teary moisture at her son. “You haven't asked about your father.”

Kirigi rose slowly. “I assumed you told him,” he said gently. “That's why I left you two alone for so long.”

“Told me what?” Kel asked. “Where is Father?”

Time had healed the pain, but there was still a scar, hard and swollen and tender. She thumped a fist against the wall. “Dead. Kirigi and I buried him out there.” She pointed toward the hills. “He used to wander there or hunt. He said it was the most peaceful place he'd ever known. When he was troubled he'd go there to be by himself. He always came back in a better mood.” She turned and met Kel's gaze. There was ice in her voice. “He won't be coming back anymore.”

“He was murdered,” Kirigi said, taking up the tale. “Mother and I had taken the wagon to town. A metal rim had broken free from one of the wheels and needed repair.” He got up, walked to the center of the room, and stood between a couple of tables. “We found him right here on this spot. See how smooth the floorboards are? I sanded for days to get rid of the stains.” He stared fixedly at the place he indicated, then suddenly he seized up a small bench. His muscles rippled as he heaved it through the air. The wall shivered at the impact.

“Kirigi!” Samidar cried.

The bench lay broken on the floor. A deep gouge mark on the wall showed how forcefully it had struck. Kirigi trembled all over, veins and muscles bulging with tension. “I thought I was over it,” he said harshly.

Samidar went to him, took him by the arm, but he shook her off and returned to his seat at the breakfast table. He stared morosely into his mug and said no more.

“I didn't know,” Kel said lamely.

“You weren't here.” She bit her tongue. She hadn't meant that to be an accusation, but it had come out that way. She went to stand by an open window and looked out. A caravan was just leaving through the gates of Dashrani. It would pass her inn, so she went to shut the door. That was sufficient to tell them she was closed.

“You mentioned a sorcerer,” she said, turning again.

“Oroladian,” Kel said with mild irritation. “You keep coming back to him.”

“There was more to your father's murder,” she explained, steely voiced. “He was mutilated. The four fingers of his right hand were cut off. The murderer must have taken them, for they were never found.”

“By all the dark gods!” Kel covered his face with his hands.

“Perhaps,” she hissed, “it was the dark gods. Or more likely, one of their servants. I wondered then, but this land was supposed to be free of sorcerers and wizards. So I told myself it must have been some madman, because nothing of value was taken.” She paced among the tables and benches. “Now you tell me there is a sorcerer, after all.”

“But why would he do it?” Kel persisted as he stared at his own fingers. “Why would any man do such a thing?”

“There are rites,” she answered coldly, “that require parts of a human corpse. The art is called necromancy, but I didn't know there were such practitioners in Keled-Zaram. This land's people know little of magic.”

“What rites?” Kel said. “How do you know about them?”

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “You know I'm Esgarian. You know what that means.”

“But you haven't any powers,” he pressed. “You told me you lost them long ago.”

“Still, I was taught!” She glared at him. “I have the knowledge. I remember!”

“I'll kill him,” Kirigi muttered, interrupting them, his voice chilly and bitter. “This Oroladian, whoever he is, must be mine.”

“Kirigi . . .” Samidar began, but the youth did not listen. He arose and stalked out the rear door without another word.

Kel watched him leave. “You've raised him outtempered,” he said when the door slammed shut.

“Like his father and brother.”

Kel lifted his mug. “No, Mother, not like me and not like Father. I'm the cool and calculating one; and always depending on his moods, Father was as quiet and gentle as he was fierce.” He sipped his water. “Kirigi is yours; he's your son.”

She came up behind him and massaged his shoulders through the red silk of his tunic. “You're my son, too, Kel.” She hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek next to his.

“I can't drink,” he said at last.

She let him go. “Sorry.” She came around the table and sat down. For the first time, she ate a bite of meat, chewed it thoughtfully. “Tell me more of this Oroladian.”

He shook his head. “Nothing more to tell. Reports say he leads the rebellion, but his motives are unknown. His supporters are like foxes, impossible to catch.” He scratched his chin. “Truthfully, we're here only on the strength of a rumor.”

She sipped water from Kirigi's mug, then lifted a tidbit of beef that dripped grease and juices down her fingers. After a while she set the meat aside uneaten and licked her fingers clean. Kel went into the kitchen and refilled his mug from the beer keg.

“There's something on your mind,” she said when he had resumed his seat.

Their gazes met. Looking at him was like seeing a masculine version of her own face. He had the same eyes and dark hair, same chiseled features. Kel was tall and lean like his father, not as heavily muscled as Kirigi. Five years had made a different man of her son, though. There was something in those emerald eyes that she could not fathom, some hint of mystery. She wondered if she really know him at all.

“You used to tell me stories,” he answered finally. “I don't remember them all clearly. I was very small. But you talked about a dagger, sometimes, and you called it by a name.” His gaze seemed to burn right through her. “You called it Demonfang.”

She sat perfectly still, her fingers interlocked so he couldn't see her hands tremble. “What about it?” she said. “They were just stories.”

He leaned closer. “But were the stories true?”

She wanted to look away, break the eye contact, but she knew she mustn't. Instead, she put on a condescending smirk. “Of course not.”

Kel half rose from his bench so she was forced to look up at him. The black raven embroidered on his silken tunic seemed to spread its ebon wings upon his chest like some bird of prey. The irony of it struck her, how that same bird had been her father's emblem so long ago in Esgaria and how all the family warriors had worn it. Now, his grandson wore it as well, though it was the ensign of a distant king.

“You're lying, Mother,” Kel accused. A sardonic grin split his face, making a thin slash of his mouth. “I think the dagger was real. I think you still have it somewhere.”

She rose and turned her back to him. “You're wrong,” she answered, keeping her voice calm. “Demonfang was just a story, a tale to entertain a baby, to hush your crying.” She faced him again. “You were always crying about something.”

He stalked around the table, caught her wrist suddenly in a grip that would not be broken. She hadn't realized how tall he was or how strong. “I want that dagger, Mother.” He twisted her arm cruelly, making her wince. “I know you have it.”

“No!” she said through clenched teeth.

He twisted harder. Pain shot through her elbow and up to her shoulder. She glanced at the rear door and thought of calling to Kirigi. Yet if she did that, the brothers would certainly fight, and all of Kel's original fear and accusations, the sense of being driven out by the younger child, would become true. Such a breach would never heal.