C H A P T E R N I N EHan was glad to leave the capital of Ardenscourt behind him. The West Road ran straight as a taut bowstring across the plains between Ardenscourt and the Tamron River. They made good time, since there were no mountains to work around, only the occasional river or stream to navigate. But in some places the bridges had been destroyed, and they had to travel far up or downstream to find a crossing place. Often makeshift ferries served travelers along the east-west road.
The evidence of the ongoing war surrounded them—burned-out farmhouses, salvos of foot soldiers on the march, massive keeps locked up tight with battle flags flying, large encampments of soldiers. Repeatedly, Han’s party left the right of way, hiding themselves in the trees to avoid mounted patrols flying the myriad colors of the warring thanes.
They came upon battlefields, sometimes dislodging crows and carrion birds from the decomposing bodies. The scavengers circled overhead, complaining rudely, then settled again as soon as they passed. Several times they passed gibbets bearing the stinking fruit of recent executions.
It’s a good season for crows, Han thought. There was no way they’d be in time for the opening day of classes, delayed as they were by their late start and many detours.
Cat wasn’t happy on horseback. The horse Jemson had lent her was an ill-favored, lazy beast, nearly as bad-tempered as Ragger. Cat clung to his back like a sticker burr, totally uncomfortable, impossible to dislodge. Things went better once Han convinced her to switch to the spare pony. They used Cat’s horse for baggage.
Cat’s superior street skills did little good in the countryside, which made her sullen and briary. She wasn’t used to being second best at anything.
Han and Dancer traded off teaching Cat woodcraft, such as tracking and bow hunting. She had quick, accurate reflexes, and she’d always been good with blades of all kinds. When their hunting was successful, she quickly learned to skin and dress the carcasses.
She seemed subdued, very different from the Cat Han remembered from the Raggers. In the past, it was Cat’s pride and obstinacy that got her into trouble. Now she seemed snappish, like a dog that’s been kicked too many times.
She displayed a persistent prejudice against Dancer for the crime of being clan. It seemed ironic, Cat being from the Southern Islands, that she’d soaked up Vale attitudes. Sometimes people that get beat on just want to beat on someone else.
They continued to travel by night. As dawn approached, they’d find a sheltered place to lay up for the day. Han and Cat would set out a few snares, while Dancer built a fire and set up camp. They’d eat, catch a few hours sleep, then prop up and pull out their books.
Dancer switched off between his Demonai flashcraft book and the book of charms. Han committed charms to memory, then struggled to make his amulet do what he wanted. Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he failed, but at least there were no more aggressive spurts of power or bizarre, self-destructive behavior.
He’d just as soon get that out of his system out here in the middle of nowhere.
As long as they stuck with reading, Cat would stay. Sometimes she brought out her basilka and played—sweet, melancholy tunes that could bring a person to tears, even if you didn’t know the words. Dancer would often leave off reading and lean forward, wrapping his arms around his knees, eyes closed, just listening.
But if they started practicing charms, Cat would stalk out of camp and stay away for hours. She made it plain that she wanted nothing to do with magic.
Dancer still disliked the substitute amulet, though he continued to load it with power. “This doesn’t feel right,” he said, poking at it. “It’s like there’s something coming between me and the amulet…something that doesn’t belong.”
Han shrugged. “Maybe they’re all like that,” he suggested. He hesitated, then pressed his fingers against the Waterlow piece. “Sometimes it seems like this one has knowledge and power embedded in it already. I thought maybe it was because of…because of who I am. Or because of who owned it before.”
Dancer frowned. “You think it’s cursed? Or you think you’re cursed?”
“Maybe both,” Han muttered. What if it was true—what Elena had told his mother? What if he was cursed because the blood of the Demon King ran in his veins? His family fortunes had certainly fallen over the past thousand years—from king of the Seven Realms to starveling street thief.
“Why? Who owned it before?”
Startled, Han looked over to where Cat sat cradling her basilka. He’d forgotten she was there.
Han didn’t want to lie to Cat, but he also didn’t want to spook her any more than she was already by telling her he was using the Demon King’s old amulet.
“Well,” he said, “it used to belong to Lord Bayar. The High Wizard.”
Cat blinked at him. Then stood, setting aside her basilka. “It seems like it brought you a whole lot of trouble,” she said. “Maybe you should give it back.” She turned and disappeared into the woods.
Han and Dancer stared after her.
“Well,” Dancer said, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re cursed. If I did, I’d stay away from you.” He tilted his head, gazing at Han’s amulet. “As for the flashpiece, it’s more likely it’s because the thing’s extremely powerful, and you don’t know what you’re doing. At least wait until you get a little training before you decide.”