Bloodsongs (38 page)

She sighed and gazed down the road toward the town. No matter what, life went on. Kings and soldiers, witches and sorcerers struggled and schemed and killed each other. But the Amalkis and Teris and the babies seemed always to go on.

She leaned back against the tree and watched an ant crawl over the toe of her boot. Slowly, she relaxed. Home or not, it was a beautiful Esgarian day. Fleecy white clouds drifted idly in the blue heavens, and with nothing better to do, she indulged in her favorite childhood game, imposing shapes on the clouds with her imagination. There was a bear, and there an eagle. Another cloud wore the shape of a horse, and as she watched, the wind worked its own special magic and changed the horse into a unicorn.

Frost smiled, stretched on her back, and folded her arms under her head.

The rich smell of spiced meat woke her. She opened her eyes and met Telric's grinning face as he waved a morsel under her nose.

She sat up, embarrassed. “I dozed. . . .”

Before she could say more he popped the bite of meat into her mouth. In his other hand he held an oiled wrapper with more meat. Beside him on the ground was a sack. It smelled of bread and cheese. “You were tired,” he said, holding another tidbit to her lips. As soon as she swallowed the first he pushed it in. He seemed to take a peculiar pleasure in stuffing her mouth that way. She chewed as quickly as she could, and he took a piece for himself.

“By the way.” He licked his fingers and reached inside his tunic. “You seemed kind of fond of this.” He extracted the moonstone circlet. “So keep it. I've always liked the way it looked on you—like a third eye.” He set it on her brow and grinned. Then he pushed another morsel into her mouth and folded the wrapper over the remainder. He stood and slung the sack over his shoulder, and she eyed him curiously, chewing. He went to his horse and put a foot in the stirrup.

“When you finish that,” he said, mounting, “you'd better hit the saddle.”

She stopped chewing, suddenly suspicious. The circlet on her head felt like a heavy weight. “How did you pay for all this?”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the town. “It was fun, actually,” he answered, winking. “I haven't stolen anything since I was a boy.” He patted the sword on his hip. “You should have seen the innkeeper's face. He packed all these goodies for us, and all he got for his trouble was a good close look at the edge of my sword.” He shook his head and grinned again. “Got to credit him, though. He pointed out the nicks in the metal and how it needed a good honing, but forgive him, please, his throat wouldn't make a decent whetstone.”

Frost clambered up, strapped on her weapon belt, and sprang onto Ashur's back. She stared down the road. “Any pursuit?” she said breathlessly.

He shrugged. “You don't look as tired suddenly.”

She ignored his comment and took off at a gallop. Telric followed close at her heels, laughing in the wind. The sack of food bounced at his side. She cast a glance over her shoulder, but there was no sign yet of pursuers. Still, it didn't pay to take chances. The sooner they put some distance between the town and themselves, the sooner they could stop and eat again.

She prayed he'd had the good sense to steal a little wine as well. What was spiced meat without a good red wine?

They rode hard, slowing only when they entered yet another wood. The smell of water hung in the air. A short distance on, they stopped on the bank of a narrow, tranquil river.

“Break out the cheer,” she ordered, pointing to the food sack. “I can't think of a more idyllic place for a picnic. Then, if no one leaps on us from the shadows, I'm going to take a bath.” She smelled herself and made a face. How could Telric possibly have been attracted to her last night? She sniffed again. For that matter, how could she have been attracted to him? “You, too, but make sure your horse gets a good drink first. The water won't be fit afterward.”

She looked at him suddenly, feeling pleased with herself, unable to recall the last time a joke had passed her lips. It felt good, very good indeed.

The Rholarothan dismounted, came to her side, and held up his hands to help her down.

“Sir!” she exclaimed with wounded pride. “I'm quite capable of getting off and on this beast without you. I suspect you're looking for another opportunity to slip your brutish arms around me.”

Telric put on an innocent expression, but he still held out his arms.

“Oh, all right.” She swung a leg over her saddlebow and leaned toward him. “But mind your manners.”

Instead of setting her on the ground, he caught her legs and cradled her in his arms. He brought his face close to hers, hesitated, then kissed her. When it ended there was a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Telric,” she said slowly, “put me down. I told you to mind your manners.”

He took a couple of steps. The muscles in his chest and arms bulged. With a heave, he tossed her into the river.

She gave a shriek as the water closed over her head and she hit bottom. Sputtering, she leaped up and wiped her eyes. Telric had already spread his red cloak on the ground and started to pull a small feast from his sack.

“You overblown, pompous piece of dung!” She stopped, speechless as she watched him pull out a corked bottle and two delicate vessels of beaten gold. She waded from the waist-deep water, her gaze riveted on the red liquid as it poured from the container.

“Stay there,” he ordered sternly. He set the vessels carefully on the ground, rose, and began to undress. “We stink.” He dropped his tunic and pulled at a boot. “In Rholaroth we never dine with stinky people. It's bad for the digestion.”

Frost removed her own garments and tossed them soaking onto the grassy shore. “Just make sure you bring the wine. I'll even consider forgiving you for a taste of that.”

When he was naked he picked up the vessels and waded in to join her. The sunlight glinted resplendently on the gold as she accepted one of the wine cups and turned it in her hand. The liquid swirled within, rich and thick as blood. It had an outstanding bouquet. She shut her eyes and took the smallest sip, savoring it. As she had hoped—it was superb.

“Forgiven?” Telric asked over the rim of his cup.

She took another sip. “I'm still considering,” she answered, and clinked her cup against his. He tried to embrace her, but she held him off. “You Rholarothans don't dine with stinky people, and I'm damned hungry. So wash.” She knocked back the last of her portion and tossed the empty vessel back on the bank. It landed on the spread cloak precisely beside the bottle.

She moved out toward the middle of the river. It was deep enough to swim, and there was very little current. She took a few strokes and dived beneath the surface. The water was warm, glorious. Her tired muscles began to loosen immediately. When the need for air compelled her, she surfaced and swam back to Telric.

He stood near the shore, laving water over himself. His skin shone where the droplets clung to him. His muscles rippled as he worked. For a nobleman Telric was still in fine shape. He hadn't gone soft with easy living like so many rich men.

She moved closer. A fine tracery of scars lined his arms. A bigger scar told of an old wound on his thigh. A similar scar ran along the ribs on his right side.

Her feet found purchase on the muddy bottom, and she extended her arms the better to observe her own battle history. It was written in her flesh just as it was in Telric's. They both had seen too much of war in their lifetimes.

“How's the biceps?” she called, remembering the latest of his wounds.

Telric flexed his muscle for her and grinned. “I told you it was just a scratch. It's nearly healed.”

She nodded and began to wash her body and her hair. A rude noise from her stomach reminded her just how hungry she was, so she hurried.

They climbed out together, and Frost gathered her clothes and draped them over some low branches in the hope they would dry before she had to wear them again. Still naked, Telric sat cross-legged on a corner of his cloak and carved slices of cheese with a small dagger he wore on his weapon belt.

The wine cups were already filled when she sat down beside him. There were two oil wrappers of spiced beef and pork. There was also a chunk of fresh bread still warm from the oven. She tasted the wine and reached for a share of the meat.

Only a bit of cheese remained when they were finished. Frost licked the lip of the bottle and upturned it, collecting the last droplet on her tongue. With a regretful sigh she tossed it over her shoulder into the bushes.

Her companion leaned close. “Samidar . . .”

She pulled away from him, rose in a swiftly graceful movement, and walked several paces away. There was a dull buzz between her eyes—the effect of the liquor—but she wasn't drunk enough for what Telric had planned. Half the day was before them yet, and there was a long way to go. “Get that look out of your eye, Lord Rholf,” she snapped. But even as she spoke, her gaze wandered over his nude form. She forced herself to look away, recognizing the danger in their casual familiarity. She moved farther away and collected her garments from where she had hung them. They were still soaked, but she pulled on the tunic, suppressing a grimace at the clammy touch.

Telric sat watching for a moment, then reached for his own clothes. He dressed quickly and munched down the last piece of cheese while she struggled with a wet boot. “We probably should have saved some of this,” he said, swallowing the final bite, licking his fingers. “But it was just too tasty.”

She said nothing. They'd both eaten as if they'd been starved, without a thought for tomorrow. Too late to worry about it, though, and there was a pleasant, snug feeling in her belly. Her clothes, however, were not pleasant, and she resented Telric for the trick he'd done her.

“Help me with this damn boot,” she called, balanced precariously on one foot while trying to shove the other into the damp leather. She glanced from the corner of her eye to see if he would fall for her plea.

Indeed, he fell. As he bent down to push on her heel, she placed both hands on his shoulders and shoved with all her strength. The splash he made as he hit the water was quite satisfying. The sight he made as he surfaced, muddy and sputtering, was even more so.

Frost folded her arms over her chest and smirked.

Telric staggered up the bank, wiping his face and new beard. Mud soiled his boots, his knees, and his backside. His garments clung limply to him. “There's a mean streak in you, woman,” he averred solemnly.

She backed hastily away from him, took Ashur's reins, and mounted. “I prefer to think of it as my playful side.” She flashed a grin that showed all her teeth. “See you on the other shore.” She guided Ashur past him and into the river.

“Well, if I have to ride in wet clothes, at least I have the consolation of knowing that you do, too,” he shouted as she went by.

So you think
, she laughed to herself as she rode up the opposite bank. It was no greater a test of her magic now than it had been in Kel's tower to dry her garments. She did it surreptitiously so her friend wouldn't notice. He had pushed her in the river first; she had only avenged herself. He deserved wet misery—but she was having none of it.

She waited while Telric mounted, forded the river, and joined her. The expression he wore as he adjusted himself in the saddle was gratifying, but she hid a grin and instead shut her eyes briefly to listen for the tiny chord that echoed at her soul's core. It told her that Kel had passed this way.

It was enough to know they were on his trail, and she shut her heart against the faint music. She would not dwell on her son today. It was too fair an afternoon, and she felt too good.

A
different music
, she decided firmly.
I'll sing, instead.

Her voice filled the wood. Songs she once had sung in her kitchen poured forth. When those were exhausted she reached farther back into her memory. Battle songs, traveling songs, bawdy songs, ballads, laments, love songs followed one upon the other. She wished idly for an instrument to play upon, but no matter, it felt good just to open up and sing!

“You have all sorts of talents,” Telric commented between melodies.

She answered scornfully with a mocking roll of her eyes. “You should see how I paint.” She made another, uglier face.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Music
and
painting?”

She laughed at his surprise. “And sewing and cooking and languages. You forget that I was a nobleman's daughter and educated accordingly.” She bit her lip. “Of course, I learned a lot of other things, too, from my mother—things you wouldn't want to know.”

She regretted her words instantly. Memories surged up irresistibly, and a new mood settled upon her, dampening her spirit. All the old pains and hurts rushed upon her. Ghosts she had thought exorcised long ago threatened to rise again, and ancient griefs tugged at her heart.

She sang one last song, fighting to dispel the mood, but there was no joy in the music this time, and she stopped before the final verse was finished.

Riding close, Telric touched her hand. Her fingers intertwined tightly with his, and she clung to him as if he were an anchor.

Not for years had those memories bothered her. She'd put all the guilt to rest—or so she had thought.
Why now?
she pondered. Her past seemed suddenly to hang over her like a black cloud. Indeed, she glanced up through the branches to assure herself the sun still floated in the sky.

But the answer loomed all around. It was the land, Esgaria itself, that haunted her. It knew her crimes and called her to judgment. She might find brief shelter in Telric's arms or in a jovial picnic or even in a song. But the land was always there, waiting. The very spirit of Esgaria accused her, and for all her witchcraft she could not stop its voice.

She rode the rest of the day in silence, watchful of every tree in the forest, alert to every swaying leaf, to the rustling and whispering.