CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

aim swayed to the rocking pace of his stolen horse. They were on Ithe road, if the term could be applied to the rutted pathway wending between hedges of wild golden-brown wheat through the wilderness of rural Nimea. A colossal stone aqueduct ran parallel to the road, its arches clogged with ivy vines and detritus. A century ago it had carried water to Othir from the purple hills staggering away in the distance. Now, it was a monument to a tribe of humble origins that had gone on to conquer most of the world. But even empires died eventually.

Josey rode beside him on a piebald nag; the animal's mild temperament matched its rider. Since they'd left Othir, Josey had lapsed into a quiet reticence. Caim was content to leave her to her solitude. After their escape through the underground tunnel leading from Pieter's tomb, they'd emerged in the foulburg of ramshackle homes along the western banks of the Memnir River. Caim liberated a pair of steeds and gear from a tavern stable, and they set off into the night. There was only one place in the world where Josey would be safe until he settled their problems, only one person he trusted to protect her.

They rode west past sleepy villages and isolated homesteads. As the miles wore on, the farms and vineyards fell behind and they entered into a vast tract of wilderness. Still, Caim kept one eye over his shoulder. Even though they hadn't seen a living soul in hours, he couldn't shake the feeling they were being pursued. Invisible phantoms prickled his imagination, and not all of them originated from the events in Othir; with each passing mile he slipped deeper and deeper into his past.

A yawn broke the morning silence as Josey stirred and stretched. Caim watched her without embarrassment. The last few days had taken their toll; she was thinner than when they'd met; her face had lost some of its color. Still, there was a core of iron in her that could not be denied.

She caught him staring. "What are you looking at?"

"Maybe we should talk about it."

"Talk about what?" But a blot of color crept into her cheeks.

"About what happened in your father's house when you kissed-"

"I was overwrought," she blurted, "and you had one foot in the grave. It was just a moment of weakness."

"Weakness, huh?"

She fixed her gaze on the road. "It won't happen again."

"That's good to know."

He shifted in the saddle. He wasn't used to riding anymore. His thighs would be sore tonight. Up ahead, trees limned in shades of bronze and gold emerged from the flatness of the plains. Far in the distance, rounded hills pushed back the horizon, and beyond them towered the shoulders of lofty gray peaks.

They passed an old marker beside the road. Half hidden by weeds, there was no telling what it said, but Caim didn't need to read it. A cardinal perched atop the stone marker watched them as they passed. Caim tried to remember the last time he'd seen a bird besides the filthy pigeons that infested Othir.

"So where are we?" Josey asked.

"Dunmarrow."

Josey stood up in her stirrups for a better look around. "I've never been so far outside the city walls. Do people actually live out here?"

"Few. At least, not many you'd want to meet. We're getting into bandit territory."

"Caim, are you sure about this? We could turn back. There might be people who would help us in Othir."

He snapped the reins. His gelding trotted for a few steps before falling back to a lazy walk. Josey caught up a moment later, handling her mount with practiced ease.

"This person you're taking us to," she said. "He can help us? Who is he? Your teacher?"

"Not exactly. But I trust him, and I don't trust many people. Neither should you."

"All right. So where does he live? On the other side of this wood?"

The path entered a stand of red maples. Cool shadows played across the ground. These woods were no mystery to Caim. He had explored their length and breadth extensively as a boy. They had been his refuge, his castle, his haven from a host of memories that refused to fade, but he had never considered returning until now.

Half a mile after they passed under the leaf canopy, a humble dwelling appeared beside the road. Caim pulled his mount to a halt. Not much had changed since the last time he'd seen the place. A tendril of wood smoke rose from the clay-brick chimney. Roughed logs formed the walls, insulated with thick layers of wattle. The roof was bundled thatch.

"Is this it?" Josey asked. "How long since you've been here?"

"A long time."

Their horses whickered as a heavyset man came around the corner of the cottage. He had a wood axe with a black iron blade in one ham-fisted hand and a load of firewood tucked under the other arm. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties. His broad frame was clad in a homespun tunic tied with a rope over buckskin breeches. His face was uneven from an old war wound that had smashed in the left side of his jaw, giving him a menacing appearance, like a mangled wolf that'd been in too many fights. Watery blue eyes watched their arrival without expression.

Caim leaned forward in the saddle. The old man had changed. His beard, as scraggly as always, had grown down to his chest, and he'd lost some hair on top. Extra weight now clung to his middle, but his shoulders were still massive, rolling on either side of his head like tumbling boulders. Caim supposed he had changed somewhat himself. He'd been little more than a half-grown boy when he left. Would the old man even recognize him?

Those fears evaporated with a nod. "Caim."

Caim returned the nod. "Kas."

The axe man scratched his leg with the blade. "Looks like your taste in company has improved. You two jumped a broom yet?"

Calm's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. "Uh, no. Kas, this is Josey. Just a girl I know."

The old man started toward the door. "Well, come inside. I've got a pot of cha on the fire. It should be about ready."

Caim climbed down and moved to help Josey from her horse, but she beat him to the ground.

"So I'm not good enough for you?" she asked, wearing the same feral smile Kit gave him whenever she wanted to pull his tail feathers.

With a grunt, Caim headed toward the cabin, hobbling with every step from the long ride. Caim ran his hand across the surface of the table in the larger of the cabin's two rooms. The whorls and knots brought back memories. He and Kas had spent a lot of time at this table, conversing over meals of homeground sausage garnished with whatever they could coax from the garden. Well, Kas had mostly talked while he listened. He remembered less pleasant things, too: angry words and all-out battles, the bitter winter when everything in the cabin except themselves had frozen solid. Caim could still imagine the chill in the tips of his fingers after all these years.

The interior was just the way he remembered it, except smaller. A layer of dust covered everything. Cobwebs hung from the rafters and the old spear over the fireplace, and the window shades looked like they hadn't been cleaned since the cabin was built. A pile of threadbare blankets was stacked in the corner where he used to sleep. The smells of wood smoke and Kas's joint liniment hung in the air.

The old man hadn't said much since they arrived, just dropped his firewood by the hearth and puttered around the squat iron stove. Josey sat back in the homemade chair and studied the two of them like animals in a menagerie.

Caim shifted to alleviate the stitch in his side. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. He was trying to come up with an excuse to leave when Kas came over with a steaming kettle, a rag wrapped around the handle. He poured a cup for each of them and lowered himself onto a stool made from a tree stump. Josey offered to give up her chair for the third time since they arrived, and for the third time Kas refused.