The Tawny Man 1 - Fools Errand
Chapter XX
STONES
There are techniques a man can use to deal with torture. One is to learn to divorce the mind from the body. Half the anguish that a skilled torturer inflicts is not the physical pain, but the victim's knowledge of the level of damage done. The torturer must walk a fine line if he wishes his victim to talk. If he takes his destruction past what the victim knows can heal, then the victim loses all incentive to talk. He but wishes to plunge more swiftly into death. But if he can hold the torment short of that line, then the torturer can make the victim an accomplice in his own torment. Suspended in pain, the anguish for the victim is wondering how long he can maintain his silence without pushing his tormentor over the line into irrevocable damage. As long as the victim refuses to talk, then the torturer proceeds, venturing closer, ever closer to damage the body cannot repair.
Once a man has been broken by pain, he remains forever a victim. He cannot ever forget that place he has visited, the moment when he decided that he would surrender everything rather than endure more pain. It is a shame no man ever completely recovers from. Some try to drown it by becoming the perpetrator of similar pain, and creating a new victim to bear for them that shame. Cruelty is a skill taught not only by example but by experience of it.
tTH, FROM THE SCROLL “VERSAAY'S USES OF PAIN”
As the sun rose, we rode on. Farmsteads, cultivated fields, and pastures became less common, and then vanished to be replaced by rocky hillsides and open forest. My anxiety was, -av, divided between fear for my wolf and for my young Prince. All in all, I had greater faith in my fourlegged companion's ability to take care of himself than I did in Dutiful. With a resolution Nighteyes would have approved, I set him out of my thoughts and concentrated on the road beside me. The increasing heat of the day was exacerbated by the thickness of the air. I could feel a storm brewing. A heavy rainfall might take all trace of their trail from the road. Tension chewed at me.
Without speaking of it, Laurel rode close to the lefthand side of the road and I the right. We looked for any sign of horses leaving the road; specifically, we looked for sign of at least three horses, galloping in flight. I knew that if I were fleeing mounted pursuers my first thought would have been to get off the road and take to the woods where there was a better chance of losing them. I assumed the Prince and his companions would do the same.
My fears that we had missed their trail in the dark built, but suddenly Laurel cried out that she had them. I no sooner looked at the marks than I was sure she was right. Here were a plentitude of shod hooves leaving the road, and all in haste. The wide tracks of the great warhorse were unmistakable. I was certain we had discovered where the Prince had left the road with his companions, and where the mob had pursued them.
As the others left the road and followed, I paused and dismounted briefly on the pretense of securing our baggage better to Myblack's saddle. I used the opportunity to relieve myself at the side of the road, knowing Nighteyes would be seeking sign of my passage.
Mounted again, I swiftly caught up with the others. A darkness gathered at the far horizon. We heard several long rumbling threats of thunder in the distance. The trampled path of the pursuit was easy to follow, and,we urged our weary beasts to a canter as we followed it. Over two open hills of grass and scrub we followed them. As we ascended the third hill, a forest of oak and alder came down to meet us. There we caught up with the pursuers. There were half a dozen of them, sprawled in the tall grass in the shadows ofthe trees.
Their ambushers had killed their mounts and the dogs, as well. It was a wise thing to do; riderless horses returning to the village would have brought out the pursuit much sooner. Yet the act sickened me, the more so because it had been done by those of Old Blood. It seemed ruthless in a way that frightened me. The animals had done nothing to deserve death. What sort of folk were these that the Prince rode with now?
Laurel covered her mouth and nose with her hand and held it there. She did not dismount. Lord Golden looked tired and sickened, but he dismounted alongside me. Together we moved among the dead, inspecting them. They were all young men, just at the age to be caught up in such madness. Yesterday afternoon, they had leapt onto their horses and ridden off to kill some Piebalds. Yesterday evening, they had died. Lying there, they did not look cruel or vicious or even stupid. Only dead.
“There were archers in those trees,” I decided. “And they were waiting here. I think the Prince's party rode through, relying on folk that already were in position here to protect them.” I had found but one broken arrow, cast aside. The others had been frugally and coolly recovered from the bodies.
“That is not the mark of an arrow.” Lord Golden pointed out a body that lay apart from the others. There were deep puncture wounds in his throat. Powerful clawed hind legs had disemboweled him. His guts buzzed and clustering flies covered the look of horror in his eyes.
“Look at the dogs. Cats attacked them, as well. All the Piebalds rounded and stood together here, and killed those who followed.”
“And then they rode on.”
“Yes.” Had the Prince's cat killed this man? Had their minds been joined as the cat killed?
“How many do you think we follow now?” Laurel had ridden a little way ahead. I suspected she did so to be away from the bloating bodies as much as to study the trail. I didn't blame her. Now she called back in a low voice, “I make it at least eight that we follow now.”
“And follow we must,” Lord Golden said. “Immediately.”
Laurel nodded. “There will be others from the village riding out by now, wondering why these men have not returned. When they find these bodies, their fury will drive them mad. The Prince must be extricated before these two groups clash.”
Her words made it sound so simple. I went back to Myblack, who annoyed me by sidling away twice before I could catch her reins. She wanted schooling but now was not the time for it. I reminded myself that blood will unnerve the calmest animal, and that patience with her now would pay great dividends later. “A different rider would give you a fist between the ears for that,” I told her mildly after I was mounted.
Her shiver of apprehension surprised me. Evidently she was more aware of me than I supposed. “Don't worry. I don't do things like that,” I reassured her. Horselike, she ignored my calming remark. Thunder rolled again in the distance and she laid her ears back flat.
I think it bothered all of us to ride away and leave those bodies swelling in the heat. Realistically, it was the wise thing to do. Their fellows would find them soon enough, and to them should fall the burying. The delay it would cause them would work to our good. Wise or not, it felt wrong.
The tracks we followed now were the deep cuts of hardridden horses. The soil under the forest roof was moister and held the trail better. At first, they had ridden for distance and speed, and a child could have followed their marks. But after a time, the trail descended into a ravine and followed a twisting stream. I rode with my eyes on the ass trees overhead, trusting Myblack to follow Malta's lead as I watched for possible ambush. An unspoken concern occupied my mind. The Piebalds the Prince rode with seemed very organized, almost to a military level. This was the second group of men who had waited for the Prince, and then ridden on with him. At least one member of the party had not hesitated to sacrifice his life for the others, nor had they scrupled at slaughtering all those who followed them. Their readiness and ruthlessness bespoke a great determination to keep the Prince and bear him on to whatever destination they had in mind. Retrieving him was very likely beyond our abilities, yet I could discover no alternatives save to follow them. Sending Laurel back to Buckkeep to fetch the guard was not feasible. By the time she returned, it would be too late. We would lose not only time, but the secrecy ofour mission.
The ravine widened and became a narrow valley. Our quarry left the stream. Before we departed it, we paused briefly to refill waterskins and share out a bit of the Fool's purloined bread and some apples. I bought a bit of Myblack's favor with the apple core. Then we were up and off again. The long afternoon wore on. None of us had spoken much. There was little to say unless we worried out loud. Danger rode behind us, as well. In either direction we were outnumbered, and I badly missed my wolf at my side.
The trail left the valley floor and wound up into the hills. The trees thinned and the terrain became rocky. The hard earth made tracking more difficult, and we went more slowly. We passed the stony foundations of a small village, long abandoned. We rode past odd hummocky formations that jutted from the boulderstrewn hillside. Lord Golden saw me looking at them and said quietly, “Graves.”
“Too big,” I protested.
“Not for those folk. They built stone chambers to hold their dead, and often entire families were interred in them as they died.”
I looked curiously back at them. Tall dead grass waved on the mounds. If there was stone beneath that sod, it was well covered. “How do you know such things?” I demanded of him.
He didn't meet my eyes. “I just do, Badgerlock. Put it down to the advantages of an aristocratic education.”
“I've heard tales of these sorts of places,” Laurel put in, her voice hushed. “They say tall thin ghosts rise from those mounds sometimes, to capture straying children and . . . Oh, Eda save us. Look. The standing stone from the same tales.”
I lifted my eyes to follow her pointing finger. A shiver walked up my back.
Black and gleaming, the stone stood twice as tall as a man did. Silver veined it. No moss clung to it. The inland breezes had been kinder to it than the salt'heavy storm winds that had weathered the Witness Stones near Buckkeep. At this distance, I could not see what signs were carved into its sides, but I knew they would be there. This stone pillar was kin to the Witness Stones and to the black pillar that had once transported me to the Elderling city. I stared at it, and knew it had been cut from the same quarry that had birthed Verity's dragon. Had magic or muscle borne it so far from that place to this?
“Do the graves go with the stone?” I asked Lord Golden.
“Things that are next to each other are not always related to one another,” he observed smoothly, and I knew heevaded my question. I turned slightly in the saddle to askLaurel, “What does the legend say about the stone?”
She shrugged one shoulder and smiled, but I think the intensity of my question made her uneasy. “There are lots of tales, but most have the same spine.” She drew a breath. “A straying child or an idle shepherd or lovers who have run away from forbidding parents come to the mounds. In most tales they sit down beside them to rest, or to find a bit of shade on a hot day. Then the ghosts rise from the mounds, and lead them to the standing stone. And they follow the ghost inside, to a different world. Some say they never come back. Some say they come back aged and old after being gone but a night, but others say the opposite: that a hundred years later, the lovers came back, hand in hand, as young as ever, to find their quarreling parents long dead and that they are free to wed.”
I had my own opinion of such tales, but did not voice them. Once I had stepped through such a pillar, to find myself in a distant dead city. Once the black stone walls of that longdead city had spoken to me, and the city had sprung to life around me. Monoliths and cities of black stone were the work of the Elderlings, long perished from the world. I had believed the Elderlings had been denizens of a far realm, deep in the mountains behind Kettricken's Mountain Kingdom. Twice now I had seen evidence that they had walked these Six Duchies hills, as well. But how many summers ago?
I tried to catch Lord Golden's eye, but he stared straight ahead and it seemed to me that he hastened his horse on. I knew by the set of his mouth that any question I asked him would be answered with another question or with an evasion. I focused my efforts on Laurel.
“It seems odd that you would hear tales of this place in Farrow.”
She gave that small shrug again. “The tales I heard were of a similar place in Farrow. And I told you. My mother's family came from a place not far from the Bresinga holdings. We often visited, when she was still alive. But I'd wager that the folk around here tell the same sort of tales about those mounds and that pillar. If any folk do live around here.”
That seemed unlikely as the day wore on. The farther we rode on, the wilder the country became. The horizon darkened and the storm muttered threats but came no nearer. If these valleys had ever known the plow, or these hills ever nurtured pasturing kine, they had forgotten it these many years. The earth was dry, stones thrusting out amongst the clots of driedup grasses and scrubby brush.
Chirring insects and birdcalls were the only signs of animal life. The trail became more difficult to follow and perforce we went more slowly. Often I glanced back behind us. Our tracks atop the tracks we followed would make it easier for our pursuers to catch up with us, but I could think of no alternative.
The constant hum of the insects suddenly hushed off to our left. I turned toward it, my heart in my mouth, but an instant later I felt my brother's presence. Two breaths, and I could see him. As always I marveled at how well the wolf could hide himself even in the scantiest of cover. As he drew closer, my gladness at seeing him turned to dismay. He trotted determinedly, head down, and his tongue hung nearly to his knees. Without a word to the others, I pulled up Myblack and dismounted, taking down my waterskin. He came to me, to drink water from my cupped hands. How did you catch up so swiftly?
You follow tracks, going slowly to find your way. I followed my heart. Where your path has wound through these hills, mine brought me straight to -you, over terrain a horse would not relish. Oh, my brother.
No time to pity me. I came to bring you warning. You are followed. I passed those who come behind you. They stopped at the bodies. They were enraged, shouting to the skies. Their anger will delay them for a time, but when they come on, they will ride fast and furious . Can you keep up?
I can hide, far more easily than you can. Instead of thinking of what will do, you should think of what you should do.
There was little enough we could do. I remounted, kicked Myblack, and caught up with the others. “We should try for more speed.”
Laurel gave me a look, but said nothing. Only a shift in Lord Golden's posture betrayed he had heard me, but in answer Malta sprang forward. Myblack suddenly decided she would not be outdone. She leapt forward, and in four strides we led the way. I kept my eyes on the ground as we jsrê
hurried along. It looked as if the Prince and his fellows had made for the shelter of some trees; I applauded their decision. I looked forward to gaining the cover. I urged a bit more speed from Myblack and led us all directly into theambush.
A mental shout from Nighteyes prompted me to rein to one side. Laurel took the arrow, dropping to the earth with a cry. The shot had been intended for me. Fury and horror blazed up in me and I rode Myblack straight at the stand of trees. My luck was that there was only one archer, and he had not had time to nock another arrow. As we passed under the downsweeping branches, I stood up in my stirrups, miraculously caught a firm hold, and pulled myself up on the branch. The archer was trying to swing his arm to bring the arrow to bear on me, but the intervening small branches were hampering him. There was no time to think about consequences. I launched myself at him, springing like a wolf. We fell in a tangle of two men and the bow. A projecting branch nearly broke my shoulder without breaking our fall. It turned us in the air. We landed with the young archer on top of me.
The impact slammed the air out of me. I could think but not act. Nighteyes saved me the need. He dashed in, a rush of claws and teeth that swept the youth off my body. I felt our attacker's surprised attempt at a repel against Nighteyes. I think he was too shocked to put much strength into it. I lay on the earth as they fought beside me, trying frantically to pull air into my lungs. He swung a fist but Nighteyes dodged and seized his passing wrist. The archer shrieked and launched a wild kick at the wolf. I felt its stunning impact. Nighteyes kept his hold but lost the strength in it. As the man wrenched his torn wrist from the wolf's jaws, I found enough breath to act.
From where I lay, I kicked the archer in the head. I flung myself on top of the man. My hands found his throat as Nighteyes seized his right calf in his jaws and hung on. The man flopped wildly between us but could not escape.
Nighteyes worried his leg. I squeezed his throat and held on until I felt his struggles cease. Even then, I kept a grip on his throat with one hand as my other found my belt knife. The entire world had shrunk to a reddened circle that was my vision of his face.
“. . . kill him! Don't kill him! Don't kill him!”
Lord Gplden's shouts penetrated my mind finally as I held the knife to our attacker's throat. I had never been less inclined to listen. Yet as the red haze of battle faded from my vision, I found myself looking down at a boy little older than Hap. His blue eyes stood out in their sockets, both in horror of death and for lack of air. Something in our fall had scraped the side of his face and blood stood out in fine rows on his cheek. I loosened my grip and Nighteyes dropped his leg. But still I straddled his chest and held my knife to his throat. I was not at all sentimental as to the innocence of young boys. We'd already seen this one's bowwork. He would as soon kill me as not. I kept my gaze on him as I asked the Fool, “Is Laurel dead?”
“Scarcely!” The incensed voice was female. Laurel staggered over to us. A glance showed me her hand clamped tight to the point of her shoulder. Blood was leaking through her fingers. She had already pulled the arrow out.
“Did you get the head out?” I asked quickly.
“I would not have pulled it out if I hadn't been sure I could get the whole thing,” she replied waspishly. Pain did not improve her temperament. She was pale but two bright spots of color stood on her cheeks. She looked down at the boy I straddled and her eyes went very wide. I heard her take a ragged breath.
Nighteyes stood beside me, panting heavily. We. should get out of here. The thought was sluggish with pain. Others may come. Those who follow or those who went ahead. I saw the boy's brow furrow.
I glanced at Laurel. “Can you ride as you are? Because we must leave here. We need to question him, but this isn't the time. We don't want to be caught by those who follow, or by his friends coming back for him.”
I could tell by her eyes that she didn't know the answer to my question but she lied bravely. “ can ride. Let's go. I too have questions I'd like to ask this one.” The archer stared at her, horrorstricken at the venom in her voice. He suddenly bucked under me, trying to escape. I backhanded him with my free hand. “Don't try that again. It's much easier for me to kill you than drag you along.”
He knew I spoke truth. His eyes went to Lord Golden and then to Laurel before his gaze came back to me. He peered up at me, blood leaking from his nose, and I recognized his shocked look. This was a young man who had killed, but never before been in imminent danger of being killed. I felt oddly qualified to introduce him to the sensation. No doubt I had once worn that same expression.
“On your feet.” Fifteen years ago, I would have backed up the command by hauling him upright. Now I kept a grip on his shirtfront but let him stand up himself. I was short of breath after our tussle, and not inclined to spend my reserves on a show of strength. Nighteyes lay down on the moss beneath the tree, unabashedly panting. Disappear, I suggested to him. In a moment.
The archer stared from me to my wolf and back again, confusion growing in his eyes. I refused to meet his gaze. Instead, I cut the leather thong that fastened the collar of his shirt. He flinched as my knife blade tugged through it. I jerked the leather loose, and roughly turned him. “Your hands,” I demanded, and without quibbling, he put them behind him. The fight seemed to have gone out of him. The teeth marks in his wrist were still bleeding. I tied his wrists tightly together. I completed my task and glanced up to find Laurel glowering at my prisoner. Obviously, she was taking the attack personally. Perhaps no one had ever tried to kill her before. The first time is always a memorable experience. riR, Lord Golden assisted Laurel into the saddle. I knew she wanted to refuse his help, but didn't dare. Missing her mount would be more humiliating than accepting his support. That left Myblack to carry my captive and me. Neither my horse nor I were happy with it. I picked up the archer's bow, and after a moment's hesitation, flung it up into the tree where it snagged and hung. With luck, no one passing here would happen to glance up and see it. From the way he stared after it, I knew it had been precious to him.
I took up Myblack's reins. “I'm going to mount,” I told my captive. “Then I'm going to reach down and pull you up behind me. If you don't cooperate, I'm going to knock you cold and leave you for those others. You know the ones I mean. The ones you thought we were, the killers from the village.”
He moistened his lips. The whole side of his face had started to puff and darken. For the first time, he spoke. “You aren't with them?”
I stared at him coldly. “Did you even wonder about that before you shot at me?” I demanded. I mounted my horse.
“You were following our trail,” he pointed out. He looked over at the woman he had shot and his expression was almost stricken. “I thought you were the villagers coming to kill us. Truly.”
I rode Myblack over to him and reached down. After an instant's hesitation, he hitched his shoulder up toward me. I got a firm grip on his upper arm. Myblack snorted and turned in a circle, but after two hops, he managed to get a leg over her. I gave him a moment to settle behind me, and then told him, “Sit tight. She's a tall horse. Throw yourself off her, you'll likely break a shoulder.”
I glanced back the way we had come. There was still no sign of pursuit, but I had a sense of our luck running out. I looked around. The trail of the Witted led uphill, but I didn't want to follow them farther until I had wrung from this boy whatever he knew. My eyes plotted out a possible ruse. We could go downhill to where a stream probably flowed in winter. The moister soil at the bottom of the hill would take our tracks well. We could follow the old streambed for a time, then leave it. Then up the opposite side and across a rocky hillside and back into cover. It might work. Our tracks would be fresher, but they might just assume they were catching up. We might draw the pursuers off the Prince.
“This way,” I announced, and put my plan into action. My horse was not pleased with her double burden. She stepped out awkwardly as if determined to show me this was a bad idea.
“But the trail . . .” Laurel protested as we abandoned the faint tracks we had followed all day.
“We don't need their tracks. We've got him. He'll know where they're headed.”
I felt him draw a breath. Then he said, through gritted teeth, “I won't tell.”
“Of course you will,” I assured him. I kicked Myblack at the same time that I asserted to her that she would obey me. Startled, she stepped out, and despite the added weight, she bore us both well. She was a strong and swift horse, but one accustomed to using those traits only as she pleased. We would have to come to terms about that.
I made her move fast down the hill and then pushed her along the stream until we came to a dry watercourse that met it. It was stony and that pleased me. We diverged there, and when I came to a rockscrabble slope, we went up it. Behind me, the archer hung on with his knees. Myblack seemed to handle the challenge without too much effort. I hoped I was not setting too difficult a pace and course for Laurel. I urged Myblack up the gravelly hill at a steep angle. If I had lured the village mob into following us, I hoped this would present them with some nasty tracking.
At the top of the hill, I paused for the others to catch up. Nighteyes had vanished. I knew he rested now, gathering his strength to come after us. I wanted my wolf at my side, yet I knew he was in less danger by himself than in my company. I scanned the surrounding terrain. Night would be coming on soon, and I wanted us out of sight and in a defensible location, one that overlooked other approaches. Up, I decided. The hill we were on was part of a ridgeline hummocking through the land. Its sister was both higher and steeper, the rocks of her bones showing more clearly.
“This way,” I told the others, as if I knew what I was doing, and led them on. We descended briefly into a scantily wooded draw, and then I led them up again, following a dry streambed. Chance and good fortune blessed us. On the next hillside, I encountered a narrow game trail, obviously made by something smaller and more agile than horses. We followed it. For a large horse, Myblack managed well, but I heard my captive catch his breath several times as the trail edged across the hill's steep face. I knew Malta would make nothing of this. I dared not look back to see how Laurel was faring. I had to trust Whitecap to bear his mistress along.
My captive dared to speak to me. “I am Old Blood.” He whispered it insistently, as if it should mean something tome.
“Are you?” I replied in sarcastic surprise.
“But you are ”
“Shut up!” I cut his words off fiercely. “Your magic matters nothing to me. You're a traitor. Speak again, and I'll throw you off the horse right now.”
He resumed a stunned silence.
As the path led up and up, I wondered if I had chosen well. The few trees we passed were twisted and gaunt, the leaves hanging limp in the hovering storm's aura. The flesh of the earth gave way to bony stones. I knew my refuge when I saw it. It was not a true cave, but was more a deep undercut in a cliff. We had to dismount to coax our horses the rest of the way up to it. I led Myblack in. It was cooler beneath the undercut and water oozed from the rock face at the back. Perhaps at some times of the year it had been responsible for carving the undercut, but now it did little more than leave a damp, green streak on the cave floor before it dribbled away down the hillside. There was no feed for the horses. It could not be helped. It offered us the best shelter and it looked defensible.
“We'll spend the night here,” I announced quietly. I wiped sweat from my brow and neck. The storm was lowering and the air thick with the threat of rain. I pointed to a spot near the back of the cavern. “Get down and sit there,” I told my prisoner. He spoke not a word, but sat, staring down at me. I gave him no second chance. I reached up, seized the front of his shirt, and jerked him off the horse. Anger has always multiplied my strength. I let him almost stand, then flung him hard from me, so that he hit the back wall of the cave and then slid down it to sit flat on the floor, halfstunned. “There's worse to come,” I promised himharshly.
Laurel stared, whitefaced and wideeyed, probably shocked at my taking command. I took her horse from her and Lord Golden helped her ease herself down. My captive showed no inclination to try to flee, and so I ignored him as I unsaddled the horses and set up our makeshift camp. Myblack lipped and then sucked at the traces of water. I scraped away sand to deepen the depression at the bottom of the wall and, gratifyingly, water began to pool there. Lord Golden was seeing to Laurel's shoulder. Deft as the Fool had always been, he had cut and peeled the clothing back from the injury. Now he held a dampened cloth to it. The blood on the cloth looked dark rather than bright. Their heads were bowed together over it in quiet talk. I drew closer. “How bad is it?” I asked quietly.
“Bad enough,” Lord Golden replied succinctly, but it was Laurel's glance that shocked me. She stared at me as if I were a rabid beast. It was far more than the affront she might take at one who had rudely interrupted a private conversation. I withdrew, wondering if the baring of her shoulder before me was what bothered her. Yet she seemed to have no qualms about Lord Golden touching her. Well, I had other things to tend, and would intrude no further. csi, I considered the small supply of food that remained to us. Bread and apples made up most of it. There was little enough for three, and not enough for four. I coldly decided our prisoner could do without. Like as not, he'd had his own provisions, and had probably eaten better today than we had. Thinking of him made me decide to check on him. He was sitting awkwardly, his hands still bound behind him, considering his lacerated leg. I glanced at it, but offered no sympathy. I stood silently over him until he spoke.
“Can I have some water?”
“Turn around,” I ordered him and was impassive as he struggled to obey. I untied his wrists. He made a small sound as I jerked the leather thong free of the clotted blood there. Slowly he moved his hands around in front of him. “You can get water over there, when the horses are satisfied.”
He nodded slowly. I knew well how badly his shoulders ached by now. My own was still throbbing from striking the tree branch. His scraped face had darkened and scabbed from the damage taken in our fall. One blue eye was shot with blood. Somehow, his injuries made him look even younger. He studied the wrist the wolf had mangled. By the set of his jaw, I knew he was afraid even to touch his injury. Slowly he lifted his eyes to me, and then looked past me.
“Where is your wolf?” he asked me.
I nearly backhanded him. He flinched at my aborted gesture. “You don't ask questions,” I told him coldly. “You answer them. Where are they taking the Prince?”
He looked at me blankly and I cursed my own clumsiness. Perhaps he had not known the Prince's identity. Well, too late to call the words back. I'd probably have to kill him anyway. I recognized that thought as Chade's and set it aside. “The boy who rides with the cat,” I clarified. “Where are they taking him?”
He swallowed dryly. “I don't know,” he lied sullenly.
I wanted to throttle the truth out of him. He threatened me in too many ways. I stood up abruptly before I could give in to my temper. “Yes you do. I'll give you some time to think about all the ways that I could make you tell me. Then I'll be back.” I walked a few steps away from him before I forced a grin onto my face and turned. “Oh. And if you think this is a good time to make a run for it ... well, two or three steps outside, and you'd no longer be wondering where my wolf is.”
A white blast of light suddenly flared into our shelter. The horses screamed, and two heartbeats later, thunder shook the earth. I blinked, momentarily blinded, and then outside the mouth of the cave, the rain came down as if someone had overturned a bucket. Abruptly, it was dark outside. A puff of wind carried rain into our cave mouth, and then shifted away. The warmth of the day departed.