There were more of the stoneshaper mages below than he’d first seen. Many groups clustered further away, moving in and out of visibility between the raised pillars. ‘Are you sure we’re safe here?’
‘You were scared by the war mages, weren’t you?’ Her voice came from very close. ‘They won’t come here. War mages fear stoneshapers.’ Her hands slipped around his belly, under his shirt, and rubbed up his chest, cold to the touch. One began to seek its way below his belt line. He felt himself stir, but reached to halt her hand before it went further. She sighed, lips so close he felt her breath on his ear. ‘I’m not fit for a prince?’
‘You are more than fit for me. Whether I was a prince or not.’
‘Then it’s something else. What? Do you live forever, in your world?’
‘No.’
‘We could die before the day is out. In moments of rest, I like to remember I am alive.’
He turned to look at her, lower lip thrust out and eyes turned down, a pose of vulnerability he could scarcely believe; he knew she was a warrior, she looked like one, moved like one. She had probably killed people in battle. He felt a pang of guilt for his lie; was that the only reason she wanted him? He laughed. ‘To be honest, I was more concerned that I haven’t washed for a long time. I probably stink.’
‘Welcome to the road,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Is that all it is?’ Her eyes were still wide and doubtful, looking deep into his. He didn’t even decide to touch her — his fingertip just ran gently down the long knotted braid the way he’d wanted it to earlier, as though his hand had decided for itself. She didn’t smile, but the doubt was gone from her face as she quickly undid the thin knots of strapping about her shoulders and waist. The gown fell away in two parts, leaving her only in her boots, her breasts larger than shown by the flatness of the tunic, the nipples fat, wide and erect in the cold. Little goose bumps were across her skin. There was a wild nest of untamed hair between her legs. And he’d been wrong: a look wasn’t enough.
She tugged at his pants, examined what was beneath them with open curiosity, as though seeing if Otherworld men were built differently from those she knew. He took the holster off his hip, not caring suddenly whether she saw the gun or not. Her hand was clumsier on his cock than it had been on her bow, but that hardly mattered. She lay on her robe and opened her legs, pulling him down into the warm wet nest between them.
To him, it seemed at first like the act of animals in the wild, scratching an itch without emotion, and he realised this was because he hadn’t kissed her. He tried but for some reason she turned her head away; he tried again, and she denied him again, and a sudden burst of possessive anger flared in him. He held her face still and pressed his lips down on hers. Passively she opened her mouth for him to do as he liked. In that irrational moment, it was her fault he’d lied and was left to doubt himself. He squeezed hard on the underside of her thigh. It was firm and cool in his hand. He flung aside one of the woven braids from where it lay across her moving breasts and clutched her arms as though to pin them. Then when he came and lay panting on her, her eyes closed, he felt almost sick with shame.
The stoneshaper mages continued their work below, and occasionally came the grinding sound of rock being moulded. She didn’t say a word as she stood and dressed, her face still unreadable. He wanted some assurance he hadn’t hurt her or used her. He realised, suddenly, he had wanted that very thing in those fevered seconds: to hurt her. Why? He had never in his life wanted such a thing before. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She looked at him as though he’d said something totally incomprehensible. ‘What?’
‘I’m just a long way from home …’ he said, and shrugged helplessly.
‘Why are you sorry? Aren’t princes supposed to, with nobodies?’ She fixed her clothes more properly in place.
Nobodies. If I’m not a prince, am I a nobody? ‘No, it’s not that … I don’t know what it is. I wanted to hurt you, that’s all. And I don’t know why. I wish I hadn’t … hadn’t wanted that.’
‘You didn’t hurt me, whatever you really wanted.’ She turned away and reached for her bow. Then, hearing something Eric hadn’t, she rushed to the platform’s edge, overlooking the path, and gazed out over the stone ridge, her slender body as taut and tense as the bowstring she drew back, an arrow in place. ‘I told you death was close. If not here for us, here for them.’ She gave a nervous little laugh.
Eric went to look, but she waved him away. ‘Go back,’ she said. ‘Run. Tell Anfen that castle swordsmen are below, some in heavy armour. Too many to fight. Now the pass is blocked. We’ve camped here too long.’
22
It had been a long, bumpy ride for Case and he was losing hope Eric would be at the end of it. He needed badly to piss. The march had been going on for hours — how many, he couldn’t tell. To keep track he’d begun counting the trudging sound of metal boots like a second hand on a clock, before it occurred to him just how pointless that was.
The supplies cart rocked under him, its wheels squeaking. Two mules dragged it along at a slower pace than the soldiers nearby wanted. They had remarked the cart was a touch heavier than it should be and couldn’t work out why; early in the march, the whole patrol had stopped while they examined its wheels and axles. Case sat between stacked pouches of water, whose sloshing sound didn’t help him one little bit as the miles ticked by. He would’ve lain down to sleep, but every so often had to dodge hands that shot in as thirsty soldiers gobbed a mouthful.
The march had been far more formal and disciplined near the castle. As they moved away, the commander loosened the leash, and the troops ignored fancy formations and keeping their steps in time. Their helms came off; the march became a stroll through the countryside, with laughing and gossip. The scenery hadn’t been much to look at, in Case’s opinion. He didn’t mind
Every so often at forks in the road, local villagers with solemn faces had approached the patrol carrying wooden trays loaded with home-made delicacies. The soldiers — against their orders, as conversation revealed — took what they were offered, thanked the locals, then joked about how ugly their women were once out of earshot. The locals had seemed terrified of them.
There’d been no such people lately. The ground had been moving upwards into less populous terrain, the road cutting through hillsides of dark grey stone. Hideous birds of a type Case didn’t know watched them pass with hostile eyes from the bone-like branches of lone grey trees.
Case didn’t much like spying, but there hadn’t been anything to do but eavesdrop. The men had spent no time discussing their present mission, whatever it was. Instead they’d talked about some business with ‘Free Cities’, and much about Vous; it sounded like they knew a hell of a lot less about him than Case felt
At last, at long last, the commander called: ‘Drinks! All halt.’
Tall outcrops loomed on their right and left. There had to be a quarry nearby, for there was the sound of rocks being shifted somewhere out of sight. The soldiers gathered around the supplies cart. Case dropped to the ground just in time, wincing as his bad knee flared up, and sneaked off behind a stone outcrop, leaving it much damper than it had been before.
The soldiers took biscuits and what looked like meat jerky of some kind, sitting in twos and threes some way off the road. Two sat near the supplies cart when Case returned to it. He carefully climbed aboard and gazed up at the shoulders of stone, longing for a nap, only half-listening to the soldiers’ conversation. ‘They got a name yet for that city?’ said one, nodding his head to whatever was making the quarry-like noise on the other side of the rock wall.
‘Not that I heard.’
‘How long till it’s finished?’
‘Less than a year. Those mages work fast. Applying?’
‘Already have. Better hurry, things are heating up. If we’re killed tomorrow, family gets pushed to the back of the queue.’
