Time's Assassin, page 9
part #3 of The Islevale Cycle Series
“Larr said there were Belvora seen in Qyrshen,” she told him.
“That’s...” He blew out a breath. “That’s alarming.”
“It’s so close to Trohsden—they’d sense you.”
“Maybe. Myles has a Spanner, a Crosser, a Binder. That might be enough magick to shield me.”
“If you make it there.”
“I’ve dealt with Belvora before.”
“It’s not only the Belvora. What if there’s a reason Risch hasn’t heard back from Trohsden?”
“Trohsden was Hayncalde’s ally. Myles and Mearlan were said to be close friends.”
“Yes, but Mearlan’s dead, and the Sheraighs rule Daerjen, and maybe Myles has decided he can’t afford to make an enemy of the new sovereign.”
Tobias didn’t answer right away.
“He wouldn’t be the first noble to abandon loyalty for his own well-being,” she said. “And for all he knows, Mearlan’s entire line has been wiped out.”
“If he’s pledged loyalty to the Sheraighs, we need to know that.”
“I understand. But until we know for certain one way or another, you probably shouldn’t deliver yourself to him.”
He shifted onto his back, stared up at the ceiling. “We need a chronofor.”
“Yes, we do, and I like the idea of finding a Binder. I’m just not convinced that Trohsden’s Binder is the one.”
Tobias made a small gesture that might have signaled acquiescence. Mara wasn’t certain. He didn’t say anything more.
In time, he rolled onto his side, his back to her. Mara wanted to say more, but she couldn’t find the words.
After a spirecount, he reached back for her, found her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.
In time, she fell asleep, only to dream of Belvora—their screams, the rank smell of rotting meat, the pain of a demon claw carving across her cheek.
She woke to darkness, sweating, breath coming in quick gasps. It took her a long time to ease her pulse, and longer still to slumber again. When she woke to daylight, she didn’t feel any more rested than she had the night before.
Mara rose, dressed, washed her face with chill water. Somewhere outside, Sofya laughed and Tobias said something Mara couldn’t hear. She donned her overshirt and left the house for the damp and cool of morning. The sky had cleared overnight; soft white clouds scudded across an expanse of deep blue, driven by a hard wind.
Sofya and Tobias stood in the open space before their home, both holding wooden swords that Tobias had fashioned from fallen branches in the wood. Sofya’s was tiny, of course, but Tobias had insisted that they teach her to wield a weapon as early as possible.
“She’s a princess, and she’s being hunted. If her father were alive, he would have started training her by now. We should do no less.”
Mara wasn’t certain she believed this last, but she did see the value in teaching the girl to defend herself. Who could say what perils she would face through her childhood? They would have been fools to wait.
The princess cried, “Mama!” when she saw Mara in the doorway.
“Show her what you learned to do, Nava,” Tobias said.
Sofya nodded, set her feet as they had taught her, and held her weapon ready. She looked like a little warrior.
“Ready?” Tobias said.
“Weady!”
Tobias advanced on her slowly and swung his sword at her in a slow, exaggerated arc.
Sofya parried, ducked under his weapon, and swung backhanded, hitting him in the side of the leg. Her movements were deliberate
—nothing he couldn’t have blocked had he chosen to. That hardly mattered. She was barely more than two years old, and already she was mastering movements third year novitiates in Windhome would have been learning on the training grounds.
Mara clapped. “Wonderful, love!”
Sofya beamed.
“Again, Papa!”
They performed the maneuver three or four times more, always at that same speed, but with precision. She would be a swordswoman by the time she was four.
After one last time, Sofya handed her sword to Tobias and announced that she was hungry. Without waiting for them, she marched into the house.
Tobias walked to the door, leaned the wooden swords against the wall, and kissed Mara.
“You didn’t sleep well.”
She crossed her arms, shivered despite the overshirt. “Not really, no. Bad dreams.”
He kissed her again, wrapped his arms around her. Mara rested her cheek on his chest, savoring his smell, the solid strength of his arms, the brush of his unbound hair over her cheek.
She couldn’t have said what made her glance up at that particular moment. Fate? Good fortune? Instinct?
The Belvora soared low, but hadn’t yet tucked its wings for a killing stoop.
She shouted Tobias’s name, broke away from him. He spun, cursed.
They dove into the house. Tobias grabbed a musket. Mara gathered Sofya in her arms.
Chapter Six
7th Day of Sipar’s Ascent, Year 634
This was why they kept loaded muskets on a shelf beside the door, beyond Sofya’s grasp, but within easy reach for them. The princess cried at the sight of the weapon. Too many times in her short life the presence of muskets and pistols had been harbingers of danger, violence, blaring noise.
Mara whispered to her.
Tobias strode back out into the clearing. The demon had banked, wings splayed, long legs angling in the wing, helping to steer into this turn.
He set his feet, lifted the musket to his shoulder. The Belvora saw, wheeled again, flapped its enormous wings. Tobias pulled the trigger.
The boom of his weapon echoed through the woods. Blue-gray smoke stung his nostrils. The Belvora spasmed, dipped, rose again on labored wingbeats. Flew on.
Tobias ducked back into the house, where Sofya now wailed. He grabbed the other musket and one of the pistols. Outside, he aimed again, but the demon had flown nearly beyond range of the weapon. And before he could aim and fire, it disappeared behind the treetops.
He sprinted into the wood, weaving past trees, searching for another clearing, desperate for another shot at the demon. If it got away, if it reported back to other Belvora, or whoever had sent it...
By the time he found another open spot, the demon was gone. Or it had circled back.
He whirled, raced back toward the house. Only once had he encountered a lone Belvora. Usually they hunted in groups. He tried to scan the sky through the trees but saw no others. He knew that didn’t mean anything.
As he emerged into their clearing, he called to Mara.
She appeared in the doorway, still clutching Sofya. Tobias slowed, whispered thanks to the Two.
He and Mara checked the sky at the same time. Blue and clouds—
nothing else.
“Did you hit it?” she asked.
“Once, yes. That wasn’t enough to stop it.” He peered at the sky again, then faced her. He read his own despair in her hazel eyes.
Sofya’s face was streaked with tears; both her little hands were fisted in Mara’s shirt.
“Why you make noise, Papa?” she demanded, an accusation in the question.
“There was something I had to shoot, love. I’m sorry I scared you.”
He walked to them. Sofya buried her face against Mara’s shoulder.
Mara patted her back, eyes on Tobias. “We can’t stay,” she said.
“No, we can’t.”
They scanned the sky again. Nothing. For the moment. Tobias stepped past her into the house. He reloaded the musket he had left there and leaned it by the door. Then he reconsidered and handed it to Mara. They both carried weapons to their bedroom and began to pack.
Sofya sat on their bed, watching in silence. Her anger at Tobias didn’t last long.
“Whewe aww we going?”
“On a new adventure,” Mara said, managing to infuse the words with enthusiasm.
“Back on a boat?”
“Maybe.”
“I wike boats!”
Tobias almost envied her.
He had no idea where they would go. If only the Belvora had found them the day before, they might have arranged passage with Seris Larr on the Gray Skate . Now, the Skate was gone—north and west, Mara said. They needed to find a ship. They wouldn’t get far on foot if the Belvora returned in numbers.
They had prepared for this day, knowing it would come eventually.
All the clothes and items they would need with them they kept accessible. The window shutters could be locked from inside; the door had a heavy lock as well. In case they found a way back here when the danger passed. A dream perhaps, but one he and Mara shared.
In less than half a bell, their travel sacks were packed, the fire banked, the windows closed. Sofya rode on Mara’s shoulders, her favorite doll in one hand, a slice of buttered bread in the other. Mara’s hair would be a greasy mess in no time.
From her perch, Sofya couldn’t see the tears on her mother’s face. Tobias grieved for Mara. She had followed him back through time, chasing a dream of love. She had saved his life several times since her arrival in this past. He had considered her his closest friend in the future they had shared, the one she never knew. Now she was his world. Once, on the night of his battle with Orzili, he had made the mistake of suggesting that she should leave him, leave this time, make a life for herself elsewhere.
She’d berated him. They were husband and wife, parents to Sofya, their lives intertwined like fibers in braided rope. Never again would he speak to her of separating. But a part of him wished he could spare her this sadness. He wanted to give her a true, lasting home. He wanted them to live as other families did.
Another dream.
He pulled the door shut, turned the key on that iron lock.
“Say ‘Goodbye, house!’”
“Goodbye, house!” Mara and Sofya said in unison.
A new adventure. One that was as likely as not to get all of them killed. The only thing riskier would have been remaining here and waiting for the demons’ inevitable attack.
Tobias and Mara were dressed for war. They carried muskets and had two pistols on their belts. They bore blades as well—knives on their belts and in sheaths strapped to their legs. Tobias carried a sword.
Tobias watched the sky, checking behind them every few steps.
Mara did the same.
They had done all of this before; it took them no time at all to fall back into old habits.
After a brief discussion, they chose to make their way first to the modest castle of Duvyn’s duke, a walk of no more than two leagues.
Seris Larr had introduced them to the duke, Risch. She trusted the man, and it had taken Tobias mere moments to understand why.
He was friendly, open, guileless, generous to a fault. And he professed to be an admirer and supporter of Mearlan, the lost sovereign.
“I wouldn’t presume to claim a friendship,” he told them that first day. “I’m but a minor noble, and he was...what he was. I would like to think, though, that he valued me as an ally.”
When, at Larr’s urging, they told him who Nava really was, he pledged his aid. “Anything you need, regardless of cost or circumstance—ask, and if it’s in my power to give it, you shall have it.”
Tobias didn’t wish to bring Belvora to any man’s door, but he and Mara had few choices.
The walk to Risch’s Castle took them through the shadows of Duvyn Wood along the slow, deep river that was also named for the duchy.
They passed peddlers on the road, and a family housed in canvas tents in the shelter of the wood. Otherwise they had the forest to themselves. No one troubled them.
After a winding descent to open farmland, they spotted Duvyn Castle. It was a simple fortification, square, towers at each corner. The red and white flag of Daerjen snapped in the wind atop her ramparts, just above the blue and red banner of Duvyn.
Guards patrolled the walls, helms gleaming in the sun, bows slung over their backs.
Beyond the castle, the waters of the firth glittered with fractured reflections of sunlight. Gulls cried overhead. Smells of salt and fish thickened the air. They glimpsed the walls of the city itself, and the pinelands fronting the nearby shore.
As Tobias, Mara, and Sofya approached the castle’s main gate, soldiers shouted from on high. Gate guards emerged from the arched entry and planted themselves in the road.
Tobias raised a hand in greeting. Sofya, who by this time rode on his shoulders, waved as well.
The three of them halted before the soldiers, a few paces shy of the gate, and gave their names. Tobias didn’t recognize any of the soldiers from previous visits to the castle, which set him on edge.
“The duke will want to see us,” he said.
“I have no doubt. You’ll need to leave your weapons—”
Tobias shook his head, and the man broke off. “Please send for your duke. He’ll allow us entry as we are.”
“We have orders not to allow entry to any who are armed as you are. Your weapons will be guarded and returned to you. If you insist on keeping them, you’ll need to move on.”
Tobias and Mara shared a glance. The unfamiliar soldiers, this strict adherence to a policy from which Risch had exempted them in the past—none of it boded well.
Tobias considered passing the castle by and continuing on their way. The problem was, for now they had nowhere else to go. He nodded to Mara, held out his musket for the guards to take.
Several of those in uniform came forward to take the firearms and blades, including their hidden weapons. They searched their carry sacks as well.
“You have enough here for an army of ten, much less two,” the commander said, eyeing the confiscated weapons. “You’re expecting trouble?”
“We’ve complied with your request for our weapons, commander,”
Tobias said, keeping his tone conversational. “We would see your duke now.”
The man’s smile could have frosted the grass beneath their feet.
“Of course.”
The commander and another soldier led them through the gate into the broad central courtyard. Fruit trees and flowering shrubs grew in a simple garden, and three peacock hens scurried across a stone path.
Sofya pointed and twisted, wrenching Tobias’s neck. “Biwds, Mama!
Did you see the Biwds?”
“I saw them, love.”
“She’s a lovely girl,” the guard said, glancing up at the princess. “I should have checked. Was she carrying arms as well?”
Surely he meant this as a jest, but it only served to deepen Tobias’s apprehension.
“The musket was hers,” he said, feeling he had to respond. “I was holding it for her.”
The man chuckled. They walked on.
Despite the chilly greeting, Tobias noticed nothing alarming within the castle. There were no more soldiers apparent than usual, no fewer laborers in the garden. Indeed, Risch’s duchess, Corinne, spotted them from the orchard and called to the guard.
All of them halted as the duchess strode to them. She was tall, elegant, even in the plain garb she wore to tend her fruit trees.
She wore her silver and black hair coiled and piled atop her head. A smudge of dirt darkened her brow above deep brown eyes.
“Tobias, Mara! Welcome. What a lovely surprise.”
The soldier regarded them anew, fresh appraisal in his stare. It seemed he hadn’t placed much faith in Tobias’s claim of friendship with the duke.
“Good day, Nava,” the duchess said to the princess. “Don’t you look pretty today.”
“Hi, Cowinne.” Sofya reached for the woman. Tobias lifted her off his shoulders and handed her to the duchess.
Sofya gave her a hug and asked to see the birds again.
“I’ll take her,” Corinne said. “She’ll be fine. You go on. Risch will want to speak with you.”
This she said pointedly. Tobias’s fears spiked again.
“This way,” the guard said, with a touch more deference.
It was a measure of how completely Tobias and Mara trusted both Risch and Corinne that they didn’t hesitate to leave the princess in that courtyard. Tobias did pause to check the sky over the castle for Belvora, but the demons hunted magickal prey. They would be far more inclined to follow Tobias and Mara than to attack Sofya. He hoped.
As they neared the arched entry to the duke’s tower, Tobias halted again, indicating to the soldier that he should do the same.
“I should have told you this earlier, but we spied a Belvora earlier today. I don’t believe we were followed, but it is possible. Both my wife and I have...abilities that might draw a Belvora’s notice.”
“As do the duke’s Spanner, Crosser, and healer,” the man said.
“Thank you for telling me. We’ll post additional marksmen on the walls. The demons won’t trouble you here.”
“Thank you,” Tobias said, revising his opinion of the man.
They entered the tower, climbed to the castle’s third level, and made their way to Risch’s quarters. At the guard’s knock, a voice from the chamber called a greeting.
The guard opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Tobias and Mara to enter.
Risch sat before his fire. Seeing them, he set aside the parchment he’d been reading and stood.
He wasn’t tall or graceful like his wife, nor was he particularly handsome, as the duke of Trohsden was said to be. His thinning wheaten hair was salted with white. His face was long, his eyes widely spaced, his nose long and crooked—from a fight he’d had as a young man, he explained the first time Tobias and Mara met him.
His gifts, they had learned long ago, were subtle: a nuanced intelligence, a biting wit, patience and wisdom in abundance, and generosity beyond expectation. Tobias had admired Mearlan IV in the brief time he knew the sovereign, and he thought highly of several of the masters and mistresses he knew from Windhome in a lost future. Never, though, had he met anyone more worthy of leading a kingdom than this man. It struck him as unjust that the modest means of House Duvyn would keep Risch from ever ascending to the throne.
The duke greeted Tobias and Mara with embraces and kind words, instructed a steward to bring food and wine, and steered them to chairs by his hearth. Only when they were seated did he ask what had brought them to his castle.
