Grave Ghost Read online

  “Does it call to you, Princess?”

  She had made the tiniest movement of her head, as though waking from a dream, registering for the first time the minoria at her side, the skip of reddening leaves in the wind, the dive of a duck on the lake.

  “Vinsant,” she pleaded, her voice raw from hours of riding without pause for a mouthful of water.

  Minoria Arun had eased the lip of his black hood onto the crown of his head. It was a wasted courtesy, for she had no desire to look him full in the face. “The last I heard Prince Vinsant was enjoying his adventure. He was heading to the Crystalite Mines with the majoria. I suspect they have already –”

  “Minoria.” Mariano strode over and stood between the heads of their horses. The glare that had appeared on his face when he first saw her in Myklaan was still there. “From this point on, the princess is denied contact with all men other than myself. It is your personal responsibility to ensure no man addresses her. Neither I nor Lord Ahkdul will have her honour sullied further.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Arun had responded with utter deference and a bow of his head.

  And so her older brother had prevented her the one small comfort she might have found as he prepared to hand her to a brutish man who would show her no respect. During the long days, the minoria rode close but made no attempt to engage her in talk. Mariano’s directive was clear. Through the longer nights, she was sequestered in the tent with her protector in sight. Today, her brother bothered to ask the minoria to ease her pain. With that small kindness came a tentative bridge to her former life.

  They should have let her be. Kordahla put her hands over her face, and sobbed, and sobbed.

  “Hush, Princess,” Arun said, moving his hands to her shoulders. “I will bring you what news I can.”

  Drawing the lip of his hood over his forehead, he rose. He paused at the tent flap, but didn’t look back. “A restful night,” he bid, and left.

  “She is distressed by the contact,” she heard him say.

  “You touched her?” Mariano asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

  “A mahktashaan can heal no other way.”

  “You will not do so again unless I am present.”

  Their footsteps led away.

  How long it was before she heard more voices she could not say. She must have dozed because Mariano was lying in his sleeping roll in front of the door.

  “My lord, someone comes down the hill,” a soldier said from outside.

  Mariano was up in an instant. He looked at her with grave mistrust. “You will stay here,” he ordered the soldier. His sword was already in his hand as he left the tent.

  Pebbles clattered. A horse neighed.

  “Halt,” a brusque voice ordered. “Declare yourself.”

  “Where is she?” Ahkdul asked.

  “Another step and I’ll order my men to run you through,” Mariano said, ignoring the swine.

  Boots scuffed to a halt on loose dirt. “Are you going into Verdaan?” The squeaky voice was young.

  “What concern is it of yours?” Ahkdul asked.

  “I’m heading that way myself. I thought I might join you.”

  “Did you, now? And what’s to say we are not brigands who will slit your throat before we rob you blind,” Mariano said.

  She flinched. Bloodshed had drenched her life, from the day two severed heads had sat atop the spikes on Tarana Palace walls, to the courtyard in Kaijoor where these men had executed filth.

  “You’re dressed like nobility. And the guards have got the royal insignia of Terlaan. And there’s a woman with you. ‘Sides, I ain’t got nothing to rob.

  “He’s been following us.” That was Ahkdul’s man, Kahlmed, the one with the hideous scars crisscrossing his face.

  “Apparently, he has,” Mariano said. “I take a very dim view of that liberty.”

  She drew in a long breath.

  “Look. I’m cursed hungry. Can’t you give a citizen a bite to eat? Or a drop of ale. A drop’d go down mighty fine.”

  “A citizen of where? Your shirt, as filthy as it is, is cut in the Myklaani style. We’ve neither affection nor obligation to that realm.”

  She exhaled into the stifling humidity of the tent.

  “Eh. Yeah, well. I’z just visiting. Now I’m on my way to see Lord Hudassan. I’ve important business with him and he’ll not thank you for hindering me.”

  “And just who are you to have such a pressing engagement with my father?”

  The pause revealed the boy’s lie. He cleared his throat. “Er. Um.”

  “Well, boy?”

  “I’m a mage. Magus Brailen.”

  That brought a low laugh from Mariano. “Who’s with you, boy?”

  “I’ll have you know I’m no boy. I’m seventeen, and I am a mage. Going to offer my services to Lord Hudassan.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “No one.” He sounded scared. “I’z just looking for a quick way to Pengari.”

  Heavy boots crunched on gravel. A sword scraped out of a scabbard. “And just why does a Myklaani mage choose to offer his services to Verdaan?” Ahkdul’s voice was breathy.

  Kordahla shivered. She rose, wrapped her gold-embroidered veil over her hair and mouth, and pulled the flap of the tent aside. Ahkdul was standing behind the skinny, carrot-haired boy, a firm hand on his shoulder. He held his sword across the lad’s stomach while he looked down, appraising the boy like a piece of flesh that might sate his sick desires. Around them, the travelling packs lay open, the utensils required for the smooth running of the camp within easy reach. The horses were tethered to iron spikes driven into the dirt on the sides of the hills. Unconvinced of a threat, they titled tired feet while they munched on mouthfuls of weeds. Unaware of one, the boy ogled her.

  “They don’t appreciate me. They won’t let me reach my potential because that god’s dropping Drucilamere wants all the glory for himself.”

  He was lucky shadows stole across the last stripes of sunshine, darkening the line of his stare. Luckier still that dirt rained down the hill, arresting Mariano’s attention. Brailen jumped at the sound, knocking Ahkdul. Ahkdul pushed him to his knees.

  “You’d best learn how to address your superiors if you harbour ambition to my court,” the swine said as two soldiers jogged down from opposite sides of the steep slope.

  “The immediate surrounds are clear, Your Highness,” one said. “Quis is checking further afield.”

  “There is a quicker way to ascertain the truth of what he says.” Mariano said. “Arun, search him. See if all he claims is true.”

  The boy scrambled up and looked ready to flee. Ahkdul walked in front of him. “You’ll not. He has offered his services to Verdaan. That makes him my man,” he growled.

  “I’ll not have a ragged defector who has been hiding in the hills travel in our company without an assurance that amounts to more than his word,” Mariano replied.

  Ahkdul turned and cast a long look up and down the freckled youth. “He will perform magic. That will suffice.”

  Mariano stood, sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “Well, boy?”

  “I need porrin,” came the eager reply.

  Ahkdul nodded to Kahlmed and pushed the boy towards the fire. The mercenary rummaged inside a pack and withdrew a packet of the powdered horror. Ahkdul pointed at a mug left lying on the ground. Brailen picked it up and Kahlmed deposited a shake inside.

  “That’s too little,” the lad said.

  Ahkdul did not respond right away. The lad looked expectant. As Ahkdul’s head dropped into a nod, Arun said, “It is enough for one versed in the lore.”

  Ahkdul crossed his arms. “You should be wary of displeasing me.”

  Brailen’s nervous eyes darted between them. He scampered to a flask, dribbled water into his mug, swirled the contents, and downed them in a single gulp. While the drug took hold, he stood still as a statue, allowing the firelight to paint his cheeks the orange of his hair. The mug fell out of h
is hand, and he swayed. He raised his arms to shoulder height and spun.

  “Fly, fly, fly!”

  And things did. The mug skipped into the fire, scraping across the crackling logs. The flask thumped into a soldier’s chest, knocking him off his feet. The pack smacked into the tent, tearing it down around her.

  “ENOUGH,” Ahkdul roared. Mariano was already storming her way. He pulled her from beneath the canvas cover, where she yet stood. As soon as he realized she was unhurt, he released her without so much as a murmured comfort. He was turning away when the blanket came billowing towards her. As if in a dream, she walked to meet its smothering embrace. A flash of blue struck it, propelling it high over her head where it cartwheeled before drifting on top of the collapsed tent. The mug, pack and flask were still flying through the camp. Kahlmed struck the lad. The slap felled him, but the boy threw back his head and laughed. The objects spiralled on. Would that they strike her a fatal blow to the head. She wandered into the path of the pack. Solid and bulky, it hurled towards her. She braced herself for the impact. The minoria hauled Brailen up and clapped a hand on his forehead. The pack thumped to earth a cubit from her. The boy sagged on his feet. Kordahla shuddered as a memory surfaced, of a balmy afternoon when Majoria Levi had tempered the bliss in her.

  “I forbade you to search this boy,” Ahkdul said, drawing his sword.

  That dreadful day had marked the beginning of this nightmare.

  “Nor did I,” Arun replied, calm as he allowed the boy to slump to the ground, for no ordinary soldier could better the swordsmanship of a mahktashaan. Nor could an ordinary man withstand his magical assault.

  She had almost made a friend of this man that week.

  Ahkdul placed the flat of his blade on Arun’s chest and pushed. “You will forgive me if I don’t take your word.”

  In her hour of worst need he had proven himself but another of her father’s men.

  “It is the word of a mahktashaan.” The minoria stood his ground.

  “It is the word of a Terlaani.”

  A flash of silver and Arun’s sword was out, the flat of his blade resting against Ahkdul’s neck.

  “A Terlaani is to be your wife,” Mariano said, as though any here could forget it. “If you will not take our word, ask the boy.”

  The boy was sitting with his legs straight out and his toes pointed to the first stars. Over and over, he touched a fingertip to his nose, and shook his head in amazement each time he completed the feat. Kahlmed, as reckless as his jagged scars proclaimed him, was striding towards them, his sword raised. Mariano’s soldiers had already surrounded the pair. Arun swung his sword off Ahkdul, stepped back and sheathed it. Sneering, Ahkdul aimed his sword at Arun’s chest. The soldiers leaned in, poised to strike. Oblivious, Brailen scrambled to the fire, fished for a stick and hooked the mug out of the embers. Sparks danced into the night as, juggling the scorching metal from hand to hand, he attempted to tip it so he could catch the last drops of the porrin brew on his tongue. Ahkdul whirled and used his blade to flick the mug from Brailen’s hands.

  “You are sober, boy.” Arun turned his hooded head to Mariano. “The lad is an addict and untrained.”

  “The question remains,” Mariano said, “why he chose to leave Myklaan.”

  “Eh, uh, I can. . . I mean I. . . Myklaan. . . Verdaan. . .”

  Ahkdul shoved the boy to Kahlmed, who flicked his head towards the strewn objects. “His reasons are mine to determine.”

  The sheepish lad jogged to collect mug, flask and blanket, hugging each one to his chest like it were fashioned of gold.

  “May I?” Arun asked Mariano, bowing his head. At Mariano’s curt nod he approached her. “Did you hear tell of this lad, Princess? Perhaps Shah Ordosteen or Lady Jordayne spoke of him in passing?”

  Kordahla was conscious of the hollowness of her breath, the slight increase in her heartbeat, the sweat on her palms. She did not answer. She almost missed Arun’s glance, and Mariano’s answering nod. Before she could think, the minoria was in front of her, reaching for her temples. She tilted her head but his fingers caught her. She braced for the nudge. It never came.

  I will not invade your mind again, Princess.

  Then why do you harass me? The vague sensation of hurt stirred her to look deep into his hood, into the eyes which glowed that unnatural cerulean blue.

  Let me give you what news I have.

  Release me.

  Princess. Kordahla. He hesitated over the intimacy.

  A breeze ruffled the edges of his hood, the hem of her veil. Why do you presume I want this?

  Let me be a friend to you.

  A friend? No friend would have covered the truth.

  They would kill you.

  She cried out, silent but grieved. And I would welcome the blade.

  Princess, you must not lose hope.

  Now we head to Verdaan, hope is a figment of my imagination. Will I ever see my home again? A faint flicker of pain surfaced as she thought of Father. Arun caught it. Strange that she detected astonishment amongst his concern.

  Mariano bade me inform the shah we had found you safe and well.

  Then he approves.

  The minoria was silent. She had not an ally left in the world.

  Kordahla.

  A blank mind was not hard to achieve in the cradle of so much bitter hurt. Arun must have sensed she would respond no more. He released her and shook his head. Mariano turned to Ahkdul. Whatever he had been about to say flew from his mind when he saw Brailen crawling over the gravel towards her. The boy’s leer turned her blood to wretched dirt. She turned away, colliding with a soldier who was erecting the tent. He steadied her with profuse apologies to her brother.

  “Lord Ahkdul.” Mariano directed a look her way.

  Fists curled, Ahkdul strode to the boy, kicked him in the stomach and pushed him to the ground. Pebbles crunched beneath him, but he had the sense to stay down. “Keep away from my betrothed. If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I’ll have your eyes out. Try to speak to her and I’ll hack off your balls and stuff them in your mouth. Is that clear?”

  Brailen spluttered.

  Kahlmed landed a vicious kick on his ribs. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” the boy managed between two groans.

  “Yes, Lord Ahkdul,” Kahlmed said. The boy gulped for air. Kahlmed stomped a foot onto his back. Brailen huffed as his face hit the dirt. Kordahla stared without feeling, unable to pity the lecherous wretch.

  “Yes, Lord Ahkdul,” Brailen gasped through what sounded like a mouthful of earth.

  “Good. Now get up,” Ahkdul said.

  The boy levered himself to his feet. Ahkdul’s eyes dropped to a disgusting place. “Come with me. If you wish to serve Verdaan, you will put your stirrings to good use tonight.”

  His voice had assumed the huskiness of desire, and now she did care. She cared very much. She clasped a hand over her mouth and fought her nausea as Ahkdul strode towards waning Daesoa, peeping over the western crest. The unsuspecting boy skittered over loose gravel as he followed. Mariano was looking at her, and she met his eyes. For the first time since he had captured her, pity softened his face. He came to her, took her in his arms, kissed the top of her head. Without a word, he ushered her into the tent.

  Chapter 6

  SIAN PAUSED AT picking apricots to grin at the pair of parrots nibbling on the choicest fruits in the upper branches. One squawked annoyance and they both bolted into the air, flashing coloured feathers. The snap of a twig told her why. She waited for Erok to track her passage through the undergrowth, and round the bushes screening her.

  “What did you find?” he asked. A couple of squirrels and a fox were slung over the spear he carried across his shoulders.

  She smiled because she was always glad to see his chubby face when he returned from a hunt, and because he had managed to tangle flecks of dried leaf in his fair hair as he stalked their dinner. She held out a plump fruit while biting into another. Whe
n he took it, she wiped the dribble of sweet juice up her chin and onto her lips. Then she showed him the speckled seeds she had collected from the tiga bush. He took one, popped it in his mouth, and spat it out.

  She laughed. “They help Ishoa’s magic. There aren’t so many bushes near our village so I’m bringing some home.”

  “You have gathered well,” he said as she piled the succulent stems she had pulled up into a crude basket she had woven from leaves and rushes. It was just as well she had learned what to eat. Erok had refused to carry the pack of provisions the Myklaani soldiers had offered when they left the flat, exposed land, although he had accepted a water bladder each. They would survive on what the land offered, he had said.

  He kicked rotten fruit from beneath the branches and sat against the trunk. She brought him tubers cooked with apricots on a bark plate, fleshed with scraps of the peacock he had speared yesterday. When he had scraped the bark with his fingers, he settled his hands on stomach, and let his eyelids droop over a satisfied smile. That had to mean she had done all right. She sat on her heels, tucked her straight, fair hair behind one ear, and watched him doze. He was glad to be in the hills, she could see. And so was she, despite the night-time yowls that interrupted their sleep. The forest was familiar. The forest was home. And Erok was as patient and thorough as Ishoa in teaching her the tracks of jaguar, bear and wolf.

  Sian finished packing her gathering. “I’m ready,” she said, aware Erok was just waiting for her.

  Erok cracked open one eye. “You are growing strong. We may reach the village in less time than it took us to come.” He stole one of the stems, dangled it from the corner of his mouth, and led the way.

  They walked up the hill in companionable silence. She was proud her legs no longer turned to the gelatinous tail of a puffer after climbing a hill. She didn’t baulk at walking along narrow ridges any more, either. She looked up at him, a strong, handsome hunter with his broad chest. If she prayed extra hard to the spirits, he might forget the time he had pulled her panicking from the track above Meeting Field. He might not tell the tribe about the man despoiling her. They already hated her for the fits. Erok didn’t seem to care, but she knew he would never love her, not in her double shame. Her insides were burning hot just remembering, burning almost as painful as her arm had. Her flesh was still pink and raw, but she could use it without grimacing now. She thanked the spirits. Even Leadsman Draykan would denounce a despoiled girl with half a brain and one arm.