Prelude The Past #2
They rode for a time, and Kai watched black carrion birds high overhead, lazily wheeling on the wind.
“Had you ever lived with mortals before? Did you know what they were like?” Kai had almost said what we’re like.
He had lived with mortals since his first breath drawn in this world, since leaving the underearth.
He wasn’t sure he could imagine what it would be like not to.
He also realized his vision of what the Blessed Lands were like was vague at best.
“No, not at all. Before the Hierarchs only the Lesser Blessed traded with mortals, and not many of them. Our way was always to try to keep them at a distance.” Tahren’s smile was small and not at all ironic. “This has been an interesting learning experience.”
“Uh-huh. Interesting.” Then it occurred to Kai what experience Tahren might be thinking of. “Like meeting Ziede.”
Tahren arched a brow at him, then looked away with a regretful expression. “If only she thought I was interesting.”
Kai had to laugh. “If she didn’t like you, I think you’d know.”
Tahren slid a look at him, alert. “Has she spoken about me?” Kai stared at her, flummoxed. She shook her head self-consciously and said, “That was wrong. I shouldn’t ask.”
“Are you not—?” Kai started, then reconsidered. “Do you really not know—”
Ahead, Telare said suddenly, “Fourth Prince, it’s time.”
Kitar, one of the vanguarders who had gone ahead with Ziede, stepped out of the brush. Kai reined in and slipped off his horse, taking his coat with him. Kitar took the reins and mounted as Kai walked into the scrub trees.
The sun was high overhead by the time Kai crawled up to where Ziede was braced in the shadow of a rock ledge above the dustwitches’ camp.
One of her vanguarders had gone to get Tahren and the soldiers, the other was tucked into the rock just below her.
It was Manah, watching to make sure nothing crept up on their position from behind, since Ziede couldn’t use her wind-devils and the chimera cantrip had run its course.
She had been so motionless against the dusty stone that Kai almost hadn’t seen her.
The other vanguarder Kitar was back in the thickets below the ridge, finding a good place to hide the horses once Tahren and the others arrived.
The direct sunlight was hot but in the shade the stone was cold and dank, even through Kai’s clothing.
He handed Ziede a bag with some dried fruit and flatbread and a flask of water, passing another down to Manah.
“Thank you,” Ziede whispered. “We ran out a while ago. Having to move so slowly is terribly inconvenient.”
“It is.” Kai squinted down at the camp. It was a scatter of battered tents in a bowl-shaped depression, sheltered by the curving rocky ridge and shaded by a few bushy trees.
The riding animals were stabled a little further down the side of the hill, where there was more grass and trees next to the small spring that had given their position away.
Some dustwitches sat in front of the shaded tents, but most must be inside.
The ones who were moving around, keeping watch, seemed desultory, which fit in with what the vanguarders believed, that the group slept through the day and was most active at night.
They probably had excellent night-vision, something Kai had lost with Enna’s body.
The only others who looked awake were a small group of five who sat under the shade of a gnarled tree and an open lean-to.
They wore the same dusty Arike-style travel clothing as the dustwitches, but no veils.
Two looked small enough to be children. One lay on their side, sleeping or ill, the others huddled together.
Kai asked Ziede, “Those are the prisoners?”
She capped the water flask and said, “Yes, I think they’re the mortal hostages.
Possibly the Witches they’ve taken prisoner are in that tent.
” She pointed to one in a less advantageous position, toward the middle of the camp with no tree to shade it.
“The dustwitches keep a watch on it, and the mortals look toward it fairly often. And I saw that Nightjar go in and out once. I think—and this is an even more chancy guess—that the Doyen is in that tent.” She indicated one toward the edge of the camp, under the tree cover.
It was larger than the others, and a few dustwitches sat outside it.
“Of course, I could be wrong, and it’s the other way around. ”
“If it is, at least I’ll know right away.” Kai was ready to get this over with. “You and Tahren and the soldiers get the mortals out, and I’ll get whoever’s in the prison tent.”
Ziede huffed a critical breath. “You’re just going to walk right into the middle of them, aren’t you.”
“It’s too hot to run.” Kai wiggled backward and down to the ledge just below where Tahren and the others now waited.
“You can’t mean to go alone,” Manah said, her frown pulling at her scar.
“He does.” Tahren was matter-of-fact. Telare and Nirana exchanged a wry look.
“We’ll go with you, watch your back,” Leshan, Ziede’s other vanguarder, added. He was a stocky Arike, as compact and strong as a boulder. “You’re Prince-heir’s…” he trailed off.
Kai lifted his brows. “I’m Prince-heir’s what?”
Manah shifted her position so she could kick Leshan lightly in the shoulder, and Leshan declined to answer.
To make it plain, Kai said, “If they kill one of you, I’ll kill all of them, and Bashasa would be disappointed with me.” No one liked to disappoint Bashasa, he was too nice about it.
Ziede slipped out of the rocky cleft and said, “Everyone will do what I say. I need Manah and Leshan to wait so they can help the prisoners once we bring them out. Kai, I’ll signal you when we’re in position.”
The vanguarders didn’t argue again, and Kai picked his way silently down and around the pebble-strewn slope, using the grass clumps and dirt for purchase.
Once he was out of sight, he slipped a small knife off his belt.
He braced himself against the rock, pulled his shirt up, and stabbed himself.
The pain doubled him over. His head swam and chills coursed through his body; he must have hit a particularly bad spot.
He leaned against the dusty sun-warmed stone, and let the heat revive him.
Stabbing was still better than rolling in one of the spiky plants that grew among the rocks and grass; he had had to do that once in an emergency while out with his cadre. But it would never be easy. The fact that it wasn’t easy helped fuel the intentions.
Ziede and Tahren, and probably Dahin—though Kai had never talked about it with him—knew how he sourced his power; the mortals didn’t and Amabel’s family was too polite to ask.
Even when people knew, he would rather not do it in front of them.
It felt oddly personal, and he also knew how disturbing the sight was.
As the pain pooled into the place where he stored the lives he drained, Kai took a deep breath and continued his climb down the slope.
He knew where the dustwitch sentries were, Kitar had pointed them out earlier, and one of their positions would make an excellent place to enter the camp.
On the flatter ground near the spring, the drowsy riding animals were tethered.
They were some variety of ox: big, stocky-bodied creatures, shaggy around the shoulders, better for pulling wagons than riding.
Luckily they seemed slow to react to Kai’s presence, flicking their tails at the buzzing flies.
The veiled sentry faced the approach to the ridge from the grassy hills, not expecting attack from the rocky slope behind her.
Her whole slumped posture suggested sullen boredom.
Kai leapt on her from behind and stole just enough of her life to leave her unconscious, then lowered her silently to the ground. The nearest animal lowed and a few others shifted nervously. Kai crouched behind a tree and after a while they settled into sleepy silence again.
Kai waited for the signal, reflecting that this would be easier if he and Ziede had some silent way to communicate. Then somewhere past the slope, dry grass and leaves rustled as the wind changed. A gentle weight with ice-prickle claws settled on his back, then slipped away.
The dustwitches who could sense wind-devils would realize one was near; it was time for Kai to draw their attention.
He stood, cast aside his straw hat, pulled the pins out of his hair so Talamines’ curls fell loose. He had come out here wearing his expositor’s blood-stained coat. He didn’t want any confusion about what he was here for. He strode up the path directly into the camp.
Dustwitches who had lazed outside the tents were on their feet, alerted by the sudden change in the wind. A voice cried out an alarm and they all turned toward Kai.
He didn’t stop, he didn’t speak. There was no point; he wasn’t here to bargain or argue.
Dust rose under his feet in a cloud, dust prickled in the back of his throat, and he drew the power out of it and swept it away with a gesture.
Had Nightjar even told her companions that it was useless to try that trick on him?
They had wasted time that could have been used for something, anything else.
He felt a tug underfoot, then stabs of sharp pain, like a thorny vine had wrapped around his leg.
It was a cantrip; outside the nearest tent, two dustwitches had crouched down, scribbling a pattern on the bare dirt.
Kai pulled a dormant intention off his coat, imbued it with some of the pain of his still-healing wound, and flung it toward them.
He didn’t bother to watch the result, the screaming told him all he needed to know.
The cantrip fell away and Kai kept walking.