*
SEPARATIONS
*
Harric's eyes followed Caris as she reined in beside them, her face and armor shining in the yellow firelight. Her eyes scanned the raging flames. "We are safe? They are turned back?"
Willard nodded. "Why do you ride the pony? Is your horse injured?"
She dropped her chin. A lock of hair fell about her face, but Harric saw a tear streak the dust on her cheek. "She won't let me near her," she said, voice hoarse. "Can't contact her. Can't..." She gave her head a shake as if casting off weakness. "Can't control her."
"I'm sorry," said Willard, and the gentleness of his voice surprised Harric.
"Mudruffle asks for your attention, Sir Willard. Something to do with Brolli."
Willard's jaw pulsed. He nodded, and Molly began to move up the trail. To Harric he said, "Find me when you're ready," then brought Molly swiftly into a canter and rode away.
Caris dismounted on the opposite side of Idgit and stared at the inferno before them. Wind raced past, sucked in by the towering wall of flames. Her hair blew toward the wind, once again concealing her face.
"Brolli..." Her voice choked off.
"I know," he said.
"There will be war with the Kwendi, Harric. This is very bad. And Holly is gone. Gods leave us, it's like the Chaos Moon is coming."
Harric nodded, but said nothing.
"Kogan's in there?" She was staring at the fire.
"Set the fire himself. It's his pyre."
She bowed her head and let out a long breath.
"I'm sorry about Rag," Harric said. "You should take Snapper. He's a good horse. And Phyros-trained. I won't need a Phyros-trained horse any longer."
She pulled the hair back and tucked it behind her ear to look at him, and her gaze—her dispassionate, unattached gaze—sent a tremor of doubt through him. It was a look of frank regard that he had not seen from her for a very long time. Not since Gallows Ferry. Not since before the ring. It was the old Caris standing before him, and the recognition sent his mind spinning with hope.
"So you're leaving," she said.
"Yes," he said, studying her closely now. "It's best. And I could take Rag, if that's what you want."
"It's too late for what I want." She looked back to the fire, and the wind whipped her hair back over her face.
Harric put a hand over his oculus as if he were merely shading his eyes from the glare of the fires. With the river bending away, it might be possible to crack it open and risk a look at her spirit. He had to try. It would be his last chance. The moment it opened a burning itch began. But this time it was bearable, like it had felt near the still water of the cistern in the dead city of the Kwendi. He let out a quiet sigh, and slowly dropped his hands. When it proved still bearable without his hands on his forehead, he turned his spirit vision on Caris.
Bright Phyros violet startled him. Streaks of the stuff mingled among her brilliant blue strands and looped off toward Willard and Molly. The God's Blood. He stared. Gods leave her, Willard made her to drink from Molly. Anger pinched at his heart. This would certainly explain why Rag had rejected Caris so absolutely: Rag hated being near Molly, and if Molly's blood was in Caris... Could the old knight not see what that took from Caris?
But just as shocking were the weaves of the ring.
They were gone.
His jaw dropped. Studying more closely, he still found no sign of the weaves. The enchantments were gone.
A new lightness filled his heart. It felt like a joyful wind lifting a paper lantern.
"What are you doing?" Caris's voice was hard.
Harric's eyes snapped open and he closed his oculus to find her glaring like she was about to reach across Idgit's back and slap him.
He blinked, mouth moving mutely. "You're free..." He breathed. "Can't you feel it? You're free."
She clenched her jaw, eyes boring into him. Then they flicked to the side as her attention went inward. After a moment, her eyes widened. "It's... It's gone." Her teeth shone in a rare smile, but vanished as her hand went to the ring and tugged at it. "But...it still won't come off." Her brow furrowed. "It's gone—I mean, inside it's gone. But it still won't come off."
Harric rubbed his stubbly chin. "I don't know about the stuck-on-your-hand part of the enchantment." At least, he couldn't see that part of it in the Unseen. The Kwendi used magic of all three moons, so he guessed it was possible that part of the enchantment was from the Mad Moon or the Bright Mother, which might not show up in the Unseen.
"But your heart is clear now?" he asked. "Your head is clear?"
She nodded, but now her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed in a hard line. "How do you know all this? It's that...creature, isn't it?"
Harric gave her a cautious nod. "I can see your spirit. I can see that the magic of the ring is gone. But I don't know why it's gone. I know that I didn't break it. I think you did it yourself. Something to do with...the Blood, maybe?"
Her nostrils flared, and her eyes grew bright. A tear rolled down her cheek, pushed sideways by the rushing wind, and she wiped it with the back of her hand. Above the roar of the fire he thought he heard her murmur, "Molly." She turned and looked back the way Willard had taken the Phyros. "Molly and Gygon," she said, louder. "I touched them and they...burned me. Burned Rag."
"Burned off the ring."
An empty ache tugged at Harric's heart as he took in her profile. The lines of her neck. The honesty of her gaze. Moons, I'll miss you, he thought. He already missed her.
Somewhere behind that ache, however, was the bittersweet realization that with her freedom came his own freedom. That he was no longer beholden to the ring or to Caris, no longer beholden to Willard for Caris's sake. Of course, it was also true that he no longer needed to leave to put distance between himself and Caris to weaken the weaves any more, either, but that only illuminated the fact that he still didn't want to stay. That he was ready to leave. That Willard and Caris would never see good in magic and they did not see good in him.
This new clarity lifted something like a stone cap from his heart.
"One last thing before I go, Caris. I owe you an apology."
She looked at him. Or rather, she looked at his nose, as he'd suggested she do when it pained her to "touch eyes." Another thing to miss.
"I'm sorry I asked you to keep my secret for me," he said. "About the magic. It wasn't fair, and I want to take it back."
The remoteness in her gaze didn't startle him this time. She nodded, and her gaze seemed to soften, slightly. He comforted himself with the thought that even though she didn't respect his choices, she had kept his secret. That hadn't been the doing of the wedding ring. It seemed instead an acknowledgement that she knew they'd helped each other and were part of each other whether they liked it or not.
He bowed deep. "Thank you, Caris. Luck grace your trail."
"And yours." Her jaw muscles clenched as if she didn't trust herself to say more. Then she mounted and rode Idgit back toward Willard and Mudruffle.
Harric stowed his spitfires and lugged the pack back toward the others. He stopped when he saw Sir Willard walking toward him up the trail. The red eye of a lit ragleaf pulsed in the red-lit dusk, and a small lantern swayed from one hand. A hundred paces up the trail beyond Willard, Harric saw the lights of lanterns, and the horses standing in the grass. There Caris unloaded bags.
"You're making camp," Harric said, when the gigantic knight stopped before him and crossed his arms over his breastplate.
Willard squinted as he studied Harric's face. "Horses need rest. Forced march for nearly two days. A wonder none went lame." He pulled the ragleaf from his mouth and exhaled smoke. "Out with it. What is it you must tell me?"
Harric gave a small bow. "Several things. First, I must depart tonight, as I originally planned. I have given Caris my horse, Snapper, who is Phyros-trained. I'll take Rag."
"She approves this?"
Harric nodded.
"Well, I don't, you selfish knave. The girl's enchanted to love you. What in the Black Moon do you think it will do to her if you leave? I need her competent to fight, not blubbering in a puddle of foolishness."
"The ring is broken. Ask her. It doesn't affect her any longer."
Bushy eyebrows bristled over the knight's violet eyes. "How is that possible? How do you know that?"
"Ask her," Harric repeated. "She'll tell you."
Willard stepped toward Harric as if he would lean in to speak low and fierce and jab a finger in his chest, but stopped himself. Fuming and clenching his jaw, he crammed the ragleaf roll between his teeth and took several long tugs. "By all the damned gods you'd better not have hurt her, boy, or I'll wring your neck and—"
"If I had hurt her I'd deserve it." The words came out swift and hard. "But I haven't. Will you listen?"
Willard clamped hard on the ragleaf, violet eyes blazing.
Harric forced his shoulders to relax. "Sir Willard, if she says otherwise, I will stay. But she won't. Ask her."
A sound like a snarl bubbled in Willard's chest, but he said nothing more, so Harric pushed on.
"Ambassador Brolli was not all he seemed, Sir Willard. Of course he's had secrets, as we all do. But I discovered the scale of his secrets last night. Or maybe the night before. It seems like they're all blurring together."
"What secrets? Out with it."
"I stumbled upon him in the forest where he had used some Kwendi magic to open a gate in the air. Four other Kwendi, as if they'd just left the Kwendi lands for a visit to our forest."
The rag roll went still between Willard's lips. "A magic door? What foolishness is this? Would you slander him now that he's gone and cannot refute you?"
"I do not make this up. Why would I?" He then told Willard how Brolli had gone through the door and that Harric had followed. He told him he heard the Kwendi elder say there would be no treaty. He described the Kwendi warriors training to fight mounted knights, and the magic of the Kwendi women.
When he'd finished, Willard stood still as stone before him, hands squeezed into fists at his sides. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and hard. "Magic doors. Peeking and spying. These lies are as vile as the knave that spawned them."
"Sir Willard, I saw all of this. You must believe me. You will be in danger if you go to the Kwendi lands."
In one quick motion, Willard seized him by the collar and lifted him until Harric barely stood upon his toes. "Lies." Rag smoke gusted in Harric's face. "Vile, faithless lies. Or have you gone mad? None could do and see as you claim."
Harric felt a calm that he normally felt at the card table. "I can, and I did. Let me show you how."
"Show me this magic door?"
Harric thought about it for a moment. "If you let me look through Brolli's things I could show you the rod he used to do it."
Willard shook him so hard the collar seemed to burn against his neck. "So that's your game. You hope to get at the dead ambassador's toys."
"You asked—" Harric choked. "You asked if I could show you the door. I don't want to look through his things. And I don't need to show you the door. I can show you in another way. Just let me go. I'll show you how I know."
Willard's eyes bored into him. After a long moment, he released Harric, and Harric stumbled back a step.
"If you do not produce a miracle," said Willard, "I shall not be accountable for my actions."
"You will not be disappointed." Harric rubbed his neck and smoothed his collar. "Yet I want your word, Sir Willard, that even if you despise my miracle as un-Arkendian blasphemy, that you won't suffer this lapse of accountability."
"What are you asking?"
"Only this: in the lore songs they tell of the Blue Order granting a short truce to the Old Ones. A time of open speech and meeting without blows."
"A New Moon Truce. You've done something so heinous you must ask for such a thing?"
Harric made a small, ironic bow. "I cannot be sure what you will take as an affront."
Willard sucked at the ragleaf until its coal burned bright again. White smoke obscured his violet eyes. "I give you one day."
Harric bowed again. "I accept." He retreated another step. Dropping his voice to a murmur, he said, "Nebecci, tasta, tryst."
The imp materialized on Harric's shoulders and looked down in surprise. His wings whipped out for balance. "Oh hey, kid. What's the trouble?" A sharp intake of breath from Willard caught Fink's attention, and he looked up in surprise. "Moons, kid. Didn't know I was meeting the parents. I would have dressed up."
Belle flashed from her scabbard in Willard's hand, and Fink dropped behind Harric with a yelp.
"You traffic with a god?" Willard snarled.
Fink peeked around Harric's leg. "What did he say? Did he just call me a god?"
"Sir Willard, you gave me your truce."
"I did not give that thing my truce."
"He is my friend, and if you harm him you harm me."
Willard ground his teeth, but came no nearer.
Harric gave a slow nod. "All right. Now I will show you how I know what I know. Do not be alarmed. When you see—or rather, don't see—you'll understand." Then he opened his oculus and entered the Unseen.
Willard's spirit blazed with blinding violet. As the old knight stared at the space where Harric stood, his eyes grew wide and he made the sign of the heart in the air between them. "Gods leave us..."
"This is how I know, Sir Willard. I can move unseen through the spirit world. Even Kwendi eyes can't see me, but I see them. And I saw everything I told you about. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but the ambassador was betraying you, leading you uselessly north, probably to imprison you, like the others. They are preparing for war. You have to warn the Queen."
"Kid." Fink pointed up the trail to where Mudruffle stood motionless in the tall grass, about ten paces away. The clay of the golem's body glowed only faintly, so he stood out like a dark silhouette against the vegetation behind him. "Sir Willard, Master Harric is charmed!" the golem called. "The imp speaks through him and tries to sow dissension between us. It wishes to ruin your mission of peace so its foul kin can feed on the slaughter of war."
Anger flared in Harric. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"I know all too well, young Harric." Mudruffle extended a hand in Harric's direction and swept it in an arc. Fink leapt on Harric's back and slapped both hands over Harric's oculus.
Weariness hung on Harric's limbs like a warm, heavy blanket. His vision blurred and he stumbled. Then the sensation passed as quickly as it came. As he recovered his balance, he saw Willard had fallen flat on his face, and Mudruffle was hurrying toward Harric's location in quick, jerking strides.
Willard raised his head, and in the next moment he was on his feet.
"Sir Willard—" Mudruffle began, but Willard grabbed the golem by his head and hurled him back in the brush from which he'd emerged.
Chest heaving, Willard stood trembling in rage. "Touch me with magic again and it shall be the last thing you do in this world."
"You must bind him," said Mudruffle, now struggling to his feet in the greenery.
Willard picked up the sword he'd dropped when he'd fallen to Mudruffle's spell. His eyes scanned the area where Harric still stood in the Unseen. "The boy has my Truce and I am bound to protect him. Do not test me in this, Mudruffle, for I will deliver swift judgment if you should harm him or his..." He glared. "...his..."
"His god," Fink supplied.
"False god!" Mudruffle honked. "Spirit of darkness!"
Harric rolled his eyes. "Fink. Don't make this harder than it has to be."
"Like how, show myself? You already did that."
"Show yourself, Harric," said Willard. "You made your point."
Harric re-entered the Seen, and Willard's eyes snapped to him.
Through clenched teeth, the knight said, "Leave. You have told me what you intended. Now leave. And never return."
"I am not under a spell," Harric said. "Please believe what I tell you about Brolli."
Motion drew Harric's eyes to Caris. Twenty paces behind Mudruffle, she led Rag down the trail toward him. She did not see Fink at first, but when she did, her eyes widened to the size duck eggs and she stopped, mouth dropping open.
Willard took Rag's lead from her and turned the mare around. Slapping the saddle, he said to Harric, "Mount and ride while you have my protection."
Fink clambered up onto Harric's pack.
As if moving in a dream, Harric took the reins and climbed aboard. Caris had fastened Spook's basket to the saddle bow, and must have let him out for a while because he wasn't mewing inconsolably. He put a finger under the lid and felt a soft paw bat it playfully.
"Sir Willard, this is a grave mistake," Mudruffle honked.
"Put a cob in it, Mudwizzle," said Fink.
"Grave or not, I guarantee his safety until this time tomorrow."
Caris turned wide eyes from Willard to Mudruffle and then to Harric and Fink, and the look of horror on her face smote him in ways he couldn't define.
Willard gave Harric his lantern and slapped Rag's rump. As the mare bore him past Mudruffle, the golem's smooth black eyes glinted in the lantern light. When he was some twenty paces past, he reined Rag and turned to face them. The three stood watching, silent as standing stones, the bright blaze of the fire behind them.
"There are no lies between us, now," Harric said. "I leave with clean conscience. I am no longer your man, Sir Willard. I am no longer beholden to the wedding ring, nor to the strictures of the Two Laws. I am the Queen's man. And though you may think only swords can serve Her Majesty, I will prove you wrong."
Willard spat and made the sign of the heart.
The silence stretched, and a knot formed in Harric's throat.
Fink shifted on the pack. "This is where I normally make a joke and everyone laughs and we all go for a drink together. Tough crowd, though."
"Farewell." Harric turned Rag and rode. As he passed the camp where Brolli's body lay, Snapper whinnied and Geraldine let out a mournful bellow.
"Farewell, friends," Harric said. And for some reason that one brought a stinging tear to his eye.
#
They left the trees outside the canyon and moved out into the grassy valley, riding in silence. Harric had removed the lid to Spook's basket to ride with one hand on the warm little body. He scratched behind ears and listened to the soft the vibration of his purrs.
"You did well back there, kid," said Fink. "I'm impressed. Or, I guess I should say that I did that well, since the whole time I was controlling you like a puppet."
Harric smiled.
The imp leaned around from behind, his bald head cocked to one side. "Price of heroes."
"Just like you said."
The imp's head bobbed. "Like to sit on this horse's back end all night with you, but I need to find Missy and clear things up. You seem all right on your own right now."
Harric nodded. "Probably better alone right now. Thanks, Fink."
Fink vanished.
Rain began to patter, making faint swishing sounds in the dry grass around them. He looked at the dark sky. The clouds did not seem heavy enough for substantial rain. Not enough, with this wind, to put out the fire. It was, however, the first rain of autumn, and enough to call up the scents of sun-toasted grass and dry wildflower dust. He smelled wood smoke on the wind, too. Not wildfires this time. There were no wildfires to the north. These were cook fires. Ahead, he'd find homesteads. From the homesteads he'd find a path to the River Arkend where hundreds and hundreds of land-hungry emigrants still traveled north on the Freedom Road that shadowed its banks. Civilization, such as it was in the north.
At the river he'd learn where the Queen resided and go to her. He'd tell her of her danger, and then his life in her service would begin in earnest.
Rain pattered in his hair and on the cat and Spook let out a mewing complaint. He put the lit back on the basket and closed his eyes to let the rain cool his face.
"Price of heroes?" he murmured to Rag. "No. Freedom isn't a price. It's a prize."
There was triumph in that. There was birth.
And the ache in his heart made it truth.
*
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