'A cooper's,' he said with a smile, recalling their very first conversation. 'Very nice, my lady.'
Sitting on a workbench, Irrial smiled brightly. 'It seemed appropriate,' she said. Then, to her other companion, 'Rannert, would you mind?'
The old butler rose and departed without casting so much as a glance Cerris's way.
'You got it?' she asked, rising and stepping toward him.
'I did.' He held his breath as her eyes passed over the axe, but while they widened slightly, taking in the sight of the legendary weapon, they showed no recognition. Repressing a sigh of relief, he looked about once more. 'This is a good place… You own it?'
She nodded. 'Rond and Elson rent from me.'
'I figured. It's a viable hiding spot, but there's still an awful lot of confusion. This might be our best chance to escape Rahariem, if we-'
'Cerris,' Irrial told him softly, reaching out to take his hand. 'I'm not leaving Rahariem.'
'Um… You're not…?'
'Do you remember what I said? I can do more good out here. It's been a month, and neither the Guilds nor the Houses have sent us any troops. We're on our own.'
'Well, so far, yes, but-'
'There's an underground forming, Cerris. A resistance against the Cephiran occupiers!' Even in the dim light of the workshop, her eyes shone. 'I've been hearing rumors for weeks, but I couldn't do anything trapped in my home. Out here, though? I have resources! Money, people… I can contribute. I can help free our home!'
'You can get killed,' Cerris protested flatly. 'Irrial, there's no way a slapdash underground resistance can stand up to the Cephiran military. Gods and hells, I'm not sure the Imphallian military can stand up to the Cephiran military.'
'Maybe not, but we have to try. And I'd like you to help us.'
Cerris stumbled to the bench and sat hard, Irrial following, still holding his hand.
Is it ever going to end? he demanded of no god in particular.
'You're good in a crisis, Cerris. You escaped from the Cephirans, twice! And you can fight, I've seen it. I don't know where you learned how to do what you do, but you could help us. A lot.'
He raised his head, and the expression plastered across his face was pained, even haunted. His mouth moved but no sound emerged.
'Just think about it,' she asked in a near whisper. 'Please.'
Cerris offered a wan smile. 'I think you're crazy as a snake with hangnails, my lady. But… All right. I'll consider it.'
'You'll consider it? Really? And you call her crazy?'
'Thank you, Cerris.' She sat down beside him, her hand rising up his arm, settling gently across his shoulders. 'And even though I know it was partly because you needed my help… Thank you for coming for me.'
She leaned in close, and Cerris paradoxically found himself shivering as he felt the heat of her skin. Her lips brushed his, once, twice, feather-gentle… And then hard, almost desperate. He tasted Irrial's mouth, felt her breath in his lungs, and with a final shudder he wrapped his arms about her in return.
And if, behind closed eyes, Cerris saw a face other than hers, a face so slightly younger, gazing at him sadly across a gulf of lost years and broken promises… Well, it would never hurt her if she never knew.
Chapter Five
THEY TRAVELED FAR, until Braetlyn was a distant memory and even Mecepheum had fallen behind. Over half the breadth of Imphallion they journeyed, upon the saddled backs of mean, ugly, war-bred mounts from the baron's own stables. Jassion sat his horse stiffly, spine straight, resplendent in chain hauberk-with black-enameled vambraces and greaves-and, as always, the crimson-and-midnight tabard of his barony. His face was sullen, and at irregular intervals his hands reached of their own accord for the terrible sword slung across the saddle behind him, as though afraid that if he ignored it for too long, it might wander away.
For many days, his silence had been a surly one, for Jassion had hoped-despite the discomfort he knew it would entail-to ride forth in full armor, an imposing titan of steel daring the world to deliver its worst. His companion, however, had explained quite resolutely that he did not plan to spend his mornings helping Jassion into his 'iron breeches,' and since the baron couldn't precisely strap himself into his armor, he'd been forced, reluctantly, to settle for mail. Since much time had passed, Kaleb was fairly certain that Jassion couldn't still be angry about so middling an issue, and thus figured that the continued silence was due largely to the fact that the noble was more or less an arrogant, discourteous ass.
Kaleb, who wore no armor but rather a simple leather jerkin and deerskin pants beneath his cloak, took it upon himself, with a malicious relish, to fill the silence with inane chatter. From observations on the weather to the names of sundry flora and fauna, he poured unwanted speech like molten metal into the baron's unwilling ears, and took great delight in watching the fellow quietly seethe.
As the roads grew narrow, however, dwindling into game trails-and as the sparse foliage slowly thickened, the trees towering nearer one another as if seeking comfort from some unseen fear-even the impertinent sorcerer grew serious. Kaleb and Jassion exchanged glances, each beset by a sudden wariness.
A bend in the trail, circling a copse of particularly thick boles, and they saw it rising before them: a wall of green and brown. At that border of branches and brambles, the voices of the wildlife stopped as though the sound itself had been cut by an unseen blade. The sunlight, no matter how it squirmed, failed to wend through the gaps in the leaves, so that nothing but utter darkness regarded the new arrivals from within the foliage.
For several moments they stared at that barrier, each lost in his own thoughts. And only then, as though made abruptly aware of where they were and what waited ahead, the horses reared. Bestial shrieks of terror rattled the trees, startling what few birds and animals had dared draw even this near the looming forest. Eyes rolled madly, and spittle dripped from iron bits.
Even as his mount lurched, Kaleb leapt nimbly from the saddle to land on the thick soil. Jassion, weighted down by his hauberk or perhaps simply less fortunate, fell hard on his back and lay gasping. The baron's mount thundered madly back down the path, and after an instant of wrestling with the reins Kaleb dropped them, allowing his own to follow.
Behind him, the leaves of the impassible wood hissed and rustled in a breeze that neither man could feel, as though chortling their grim amusement.
Kaleb sidled over to Jassion and offered a helping hand, hauling the winded baron to his feet as though he weighed no more than a child's doll.
'Horses…,' the nobleman panted between gasps.
Kaleb shrugged. 'I can probably call them back once we're through here.'
'And…' Another wheeze. 'If not?'
'Then I guess, my lord, you learn the hard way that your feet are good for more than putting in your mouth or kicking the occasional servant.'
Jassion tried to glare, but his gulping breaths-which, Kaleb noted with a snicker, were all too appropriate for a man with a fish emblazoned on his chest-rather ruined the effect.
Remarkably, Kaleb chose to remain silent until the baron had finally recovered. Then, spotting a sudden spark of panic in Jassion's expression, he pointed. 'Over there. It fell when you did.'
Jassion must have been grateful indeed, for his muttered 'Thank you' as he stooped to retrieve the fallen Talon actually sounded heartfelt. He looked taller when he rose, and the lingering traces of pain had faded from his breath.
And again both men stood and scrutinized the wall of trees, like children desperate for any excuse to put off a hated chore.
'Are you certain she's here?' Jassion asked finally.
'What's wrong, my lord? You couldn't possibly be frightened, could you?'
'There's precious little in the world that frightens me,' Jassion said, still watching the trees. 'But I'm not an
