but just because the danger was gone didn't make me any less terrified, and he couldn't be bothered to wait around afterward and make sure I was all right.'
'So you learned to take care of yourself.' It was not a question.
'Anywhere I could.'
'I admire the spirit, Mellorin, but there's a big difference between street fighting and what we do out here. Look behind you.'
Scowling in distrust, she glanced down. Jassion, without rising from the dust, had twisted around and drawn Talon, leveling the tip, steady and unwavering, mere inches from the small of her back. Only after a long moment, once he was content that she understood, did he withdraw the blade and rise to his feet.
'And your uncle will tell you,' Kaleb continued, 'that the instant you decided to talk to me rather than just slit my throat and be done with it, you gave me all the time I needed to kill you, if that's what I'd wanted.'
The blade disappeared up Mellorin's sleeve and she stepped away, flushing brightly in the firelight. 'You don't understand,' she protested, sounding now more like a child than the young woman she'd so recently become. 'I have to go with you. I have to know. Please…'
'Know what?' Jassion asked carefully, twisting awkwardly to brush his back clean.
'How my father could do what he did. How he could… How he could choose his damn crusade over his family.'
Kaleb and Jassion glanced at each other, then at Mellorin, both sharing a comical expression of uncertainty.
'I know,' she told them softly, sitting on a small log that Jassion had earlier dragged to the camp for use as a chair. 'Mother never told us, and Lilander's too young to question, but… I know when he left, and everyone knows about the Serpent's War. It wasn't hard to figure it out. Just because Mother thinks I'm an idiot,' she spat bitterly, 'doesn't make me one.'
'Don't you dare-' Jassion began hotly, but Kaleb was already kneeling at Mellorin's side.
'Your mother thinks no such thing,' he told her gently, almost putting a hand on hers, recoiling at the last moment as he recalled her earlier words. 'She was trying to protect you. And I think you know that, Mellorin.'
She sniffed once, cleared her throat, offered the sorcerer a shallow shrug. 'It doesn't matter. I have to know who he was. I have to ask him why.'
'All right,' he said, standing, smiling softly. 'You can join us.'
Even as Mellorin's face broke into an astonished smile, Kaleb could actually hear Jassion stiffening up behind him.
'Kaleb?' The baron's mouth barely moved, so tightly was his jaw clenched. 'Can I speak with you over by the horses for a moment?'
The sorcerer frowned thoughtfully. 'No, I don't think so. Mellorin's not a child, Jassion, no matter how much you treat her like one. The least you can do is respect her enough to say whatever you have to say to her face.'
Mellorin actually beamed.
Jassion reached out, snagging the clasp of Kaleb's cloak-looking very much like he'd prefer it had been the man's throat beneath his fingers-and dragged him across the campsite. His niece glared after them but remained where she was, apparently deciding not to press the issue.
'Do that again,' Kaleb said, knocking the baron's hand aside, 'and we're going to have a disagreement.'
'Did we not just discuss this?' Jassion demanded, so near that Kaleb felt the spittle on which those words rode. 'Did you not understand me this afternoon?'
'We're not kidnapping anyone. She wants to join us, old boy. And she can take care of herself. You saw that.'
'Pfft. She's a brawler, Kaleb, nothing more. You said as much.'
'But she's good. We can teach her. Besides, I don't think even Rebaine would hurt his own daughter.'
'I'm not so sure. Besides, there are other dangers-'
'And anything we can't teach her to handle, we can protect her from. I have several wards I can cast over her, just for an added bit of protection. Would you permit that, Mellorin?' he called so that she could hear. 'Let me cast some defensive spells over you as we travel, to mollify your uncle?'
She blinked, then shrugged. 'If that's what it takes.'
'We need her,' Kaleb continued, his voice hushed once more, 'and you know it. Besides,' he added, glancing again over Jassion's shoulder at the object of their discussion, 'she'd probably just keep following us.'
'You said the blood wouldn't help us much,' Jassion protested, but his tone and even his posture were weakening.
'I said not unless he was nearby. But 'near' is a relative thing where magic's concerned. Suppose we manage to track him to the right city, then what? You plan to knock on doors at random? We've a far better chance with her than without her.'
Jassion turned reluctantly to study his niece. She, sensing his attention, glared back defiantly.
'If anything happens to her, Kaleb…'
'Don't fret, old boy. If it makes you feel any better, I'm a lot more likely to protect her than I am you.'
Jassion snarled and went to tell his niece the 'good' news. Unseen behind him, Kaleb couldn't quite repress a secret smile. That there was more to Mellorin's motives than she'd admitted, he was absolutely certain, as certain as he was of his own name. But he had time, plenty of time to draw out the truth.
It might prove almost as useful as the girl herself.
Chapter Ten
Rahariem had fallen.
From beyond its walls they'd come, a swarm of mercenaries both Imphallian and foreign, and if their armor, their weapons, and their war cries were all different, still they fought as a unified force.
Alongside them had marched warriors of far more fearsome mien. Horned, cyclopean ogres ripped soldiers and horses and siege engines apart with great serrated blades and bare hands. Twisted, creeping gnomes crawled from the earth, cloaked in gloom, to murder soldier and citizen alike. The grounds surrounding Rahariem had become a swamp, made clinging mud by the shedding of so much blood. The shadow of flapping wings and the squawking of uncounted crows were an endless storm in the skies.
Yet the horrors of battle had paled before the horrors to come.
The courtyard of the Ducal Estate was crammed to bursting, its grasses and flowers trampled by the crush of so many feet. Rahariem's citizens milled aimlessly, aristocrat with pauper. Whimpers of terror rose as a single breath from the throng, and frightened eyes could not settle in any safe direction. From the fences surrounding the property, from the lampposts on the streets beyond, even from the flagpoles of the great keep, rancid bodies dangled, decanting vile fluids across the ground below. Thanks to the crows and creeping vermin, most were unrecognizable, and this, gruesome though it might have been, was a blessing-for each surviving face was known and loved by someone in the crowd.
Surrounding them-prodding with swords and spears; keeping the sheep from stampeding-were the invaders, human and otherwise. So long as the citizens held themselves in check and made no attempt to cause trouble or to escape, the soldiers left them largely unmolested. Any disruption, however, drew immediate and brutal response.
Nobody made a nuisance of themselves twice-because nobody survived the first time.
The keep's massive doors swung wide, and there he stood, framed within. The black steel of his armor faded into the darkness of the hall beyond, so that the plates of bone and the terrible skull seemed to hover, phantasmal and disembodied. For a long moment, precisely calculated for maximum effect, he waited, making no move save to rake that empty gaze across the assembly, examining every face and every soul, and disapproving of what he found. Then and only then did the monster who called himself Corvis Rebaine step into full view. Despite themselves, the crowd cowered away. Several began to weep.
'You've had the time I promised,' he told them, and his voice was no less hollow than the empty sockets of
