Lashjuk felt the carriage roll to a stop. Despite the roar of the victorious men—and presumably women—who had defended Jižní Lov, she caught the sound of the door opening above.
“Poslouchej mě! Poslouchej mě jižní meče!” Ebistian’s voice cut through the cacophony like a knife in the dark. The gasps as the crowd hushed were astonished and fearful.
They expect him to tell them of a new threat on the come. Little do they know he is that threat. Lashjuk resisted the desire to roll out of her hiding place. It would be so simple to reach up and throttle the man … and make that her dying act. No, there were too many hands holding too many weapons within striking distance. And they were all far more skilled than she.
“Count Edmund … has been wounded.”
Voices growled. Shouted negations. Some even wept openly.
“He lives—for now, at least—but he may not last long. He cannot last long if we do not get him care! Is the Lord Alojz still alive?”
You cozening shit. You know full well he isn’t here, she thought, but did not say.
As if he’d heard her, the unfamiliar voice of a young man delivered this news that was not news. “He’s not here, Lord!”
“Lord, he’s been gone for days now!” An older man this time. She knew this one, didn’t she? One of the men who… one of the men who’d come to camp the morning before they’d left? She thought so, but couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t been she who’d spoken with the boys’ fathers, after all. They’d come on Eobum’s request, to be roundly thanked for raising their sons to stand up and defend those weaker than they. She’d been torn as to whether or not she’d wanted to involve herself, even though it had been Maksu they’d stood by. In the end, she’d opted to leave the matter to Eobum.
Hells, had I begun to think of him as my partner, even back then? She realized she had, on some level. The realization was painful. The idea that they’d—that she’d wasted so much time…
Ebistian’s voice snapped her mind back to the matter at hand.
“It is the Lord Alojz whom I serve. I am chief scholar to the house of Černook. I will do all that I can for Edmund, but I must get him to safety before some other calamity befalls this goodly place.”
That called up a rumble of wary anger from the crowd.
“We must inform Lady Kastan!” said someone.
“Aye! She must be told!” said another.
“Hard as it is to hear on such a day, she’ll want to be by her lord’s side, yet we need her!”
After this third voice had offered up its wisdom, Ebistian spoke again.
“As my Lord Alojz Černook is the custodian of these lands, until he returns, or the count recovers, I shall assume command.” This was met with a churning mixture of confusion and muted anger. With no clear voice to unite the crowd, Ebistian overrode their prattle with relative ease. “I go to His Excellency’s command tent. There I shall render what help I may to Edmund the Tall. If you would help him?” He allowed a pregnant pause to hang in the air before speaking again. “Tend to your wounded, tend to the gate, and tend to the prisoners you’ve captured.”
“What of Lady Kastan? Has she been wounded as well?”
“We will hope not,” Ebistian’s voice was starting to show a touch of pique, but it was unlikely to be noticed by the masses. “Make way now. Count Edmund needs rest and what healing arts can be brought to bear. Make way!”
Well, Kastan lives, or so they think. That’s something. Kastan lives and Ebistian seemed to grow more annoyed with each mention of her name. Anything or anyone who annoyed that silver-tongued serpent was worth smiling about.
She felt the carriage moving once more. It veered left once it passed beyond the gate itself. She could see wooden stairs along the vehicle’s left side. These led to the walkways that topped the wall. She’d been weighing out the idea of using those pathways as a means of moving around the encampment when she heard shouts of alarm.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt. With the sounds of crunched gravel, creaking wood, and armored horsemen no longer making her strain to hear, the shouts became audible, if not intelligible.
“Stormrider! Stormrider! The cloud! The Jarl! He’s come back!” On and on, the crowd continued its fearful rant. She knew better than to simply dismiss such obvious fear, yet she had no way to make sense of it … until she saw him.
Gi awka glem! Eobum! Eobum! How?
She nearly leapt out from her hiding place, ready to run to him. An instant later, her merciless eyes showed her the truth, and out went her new fire. Her sudden flare of hope and joy were gone.
Not Eobum. Of course, it’s not Eobum. They could be kin, but no. Whoever this man is, he isn’t my Eobum. Looking at him, she saw that his chest was broader. His hair was darker, too, and it sprouted from a scalp with a forest of scars on it. Questions of his heritage notwithstanding, the idea that Eobum would arrive either upon or within his own personal storm cloud was … absurd.
Yet I speak with a size-changing serpent creature and traveled asleep upon its back.
Ebistian opened the door. His voice suggested that he was looking up at the new arrival. Lashjuk found that while this Stormrider had moved to a point where she could no longer see him directly, she could make out a vague shadow on the grey ground.
“You have lost,” said Ebistian. “You may withdraw, or you… Can you not hear me?”
“The Jarl can hear you, Shepherd. What he cannot do is speak.”
Ebistian’s shadow held up a hand toward the Stormrider. It then turned toward where she judged Eliška to be. This was born out when the woman spoke up again, as if in response to a questioning look.
“He offended his Venzene masters when they raided Eoalun this year. They cut out his tongue, then bound him and rode their horses over his legs. All, of course, in an effort to teach him … a lesson.” Eliška’s voice was cold, making no attempt to hide her disgust.
“And they left his ears intact—the better to hear a world he could barely be a part of any more. Does he speak the Trade Tongue?” Ebistian’s tone was one of unaffected surprise. Moreover, it displayed what sounded like genuine sadness.
She saw the Stormrider’s shadow move in hand gestures, much of which blended into his overall form.
Ebistian shook his head. “Do you read?”
The Stormrider shook his own. He clenched his fist, then shook it at something below.
“T’lendak?”
“He speaks in the gnoerkish hand-tongue,” said she. “I’ve never learned it.”
“No… No, of course not, nor have I.” His shadow shook its head. “Surely there’s someone who can translate.”
“His child.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Ah… his child is dead.”
Lashjuk saw the Stormrider’s shadow lift a body not much larger than her Sulok’s. Why in all the hells did you bring a boy that age to a place you meant to turn into a killing field? Life was hard, and the world dangerous. Bringing a child to a place where there might be danger was very different from bringing that same child to a place that was, by design, dangerous.
“Is the boy among your court now?”
“He is not,” said Eliška. “He and his boy have been with us for too short a time for such. Yet the Jarl is chosen by the Storm Queen, Shepherd. If you would do her this service, she would consider it a boon to be repaid…”
Ebistian snorted. “This man has not been chosen by the Storm Queen, T’lendak. What manner of fool do you take me for? He and his boy were chosen by you. Your mistress had no part in it at all.”
Eliška huffed, but said nothing.
The Stormrider shifted the limp body he held onto one arm, then pointed down. Then he drew his free hand along his own throat as if he meant to cut himself.
“That is who felled your child, Jarl?” Ebistian seemed to have forgotten the supposedly dire situation Edmund was in. His tone still held that sense of honest sympathy, which was difficult to listen to.
The Stormrider’s shadow nodded.
“You would take your revenge?”
Again, the Stormrider nodded.
“And if I can give you more? If I can give you justice instead?”
The Stormrider appeared to draw back, his shadow growing smaller for a beat or two.
“Give them both to me, Jarl. I will restore your boy to you in full and in earnest. At your word, and within the hour, you will have him at your side again.”
The Jarl’s shadow turned to its right. Eliška spoke up. “He has this power, my brave Jarl. On this matter, I trust that he means what he says, and will bring your herald back to you.”
“His son, T’lendak.” Ebistian’s voice was a snarl of disgust. “The boy may have duties to do for his father, just as any child does. But do not mistake duty for purpose.” He returned to his earlier tone of sympathy as he addressed the man who could be Eobum’s kin once more. “Will you allow me to do this for you?”
The Jarl nodded.
“And in return, you will do … what you think best to repay me. I trust to your good will on that score.”
“Wait, what? No! Shepherd, he is chosen, I say! Chosen by—”
“A small-minded T’lendak who thought to bring bloodshed into my land. Yes, I know.”
“Yes, but the pact!”
“Is of either no consequence, or utter consequence—both of which serve my point far better than yours. Either the Jarl elects to stand with me or do me some small service in token of his gratitude for what I now do, or I am generous with what is rightfully mine as a part of the spoils of the battlefield. Terms to which you agreed not half a bell ago. Now, be silent.”
Ebistian stepped from the coach, walking over to where the Jarl floated. He took first the dead child from his father, passing him gently up to the driver. He then took another child, one Lashjuk had seen before. As Ebistian carried him toward the waiting carriage, he woke. His voice was groggy, as if he still slept.
“Vhere… vhere are ve going, Lord?”
“To a place where your pain can best be seen to, child.”
“I… I think I can valk, Lord. My head doesn’t hurt quite so badly anymore.”
“We will get you to the Count’s command tent and see to your injuries.” He entered the carriage. “For now, rest in comfort while you’ve the opportunity.”
The door closed, the Stormrider floated upward on his cloud, and the carriage resumed what was left of its journey.
The crowd cheered as he withdrew, though there was a good deal of confusion within that cheer. It was confusion that Lashjuk shared, but that did nothing to improve her mood. Nothing was ever simple.
It wasn’t enough that she had to rescue Maksu—potentially against his own will, no less. No. Now I must rescue Andrej as well. Andrej or Vlk… whichever one that was. He stood between my Maksu and the Bluemark. I cannot repay that by abandoning him.
Shaking her head, she waited. But not for much longer. She grinned, eyes slitted. Not for much longer.