“Mithra’s burning balls,” Adin said as he ducked halfheartedly to avoid an amber-filled mug. Sour-smelling liquid splashed over the boy’s shoulders. Adin shook, his breath quickening, a flush returning to his hollow cheeks. “Dammit, Ren, it’s really you.”
“Real as your mother’s stink.” Ren caught a spatter of ale on his cheek. Blood still covered his hands, so when he moved to brush aside the amber he smeared red viscera across his brow. “Dammit,” he cried as he struggled to clean the blood from his face and arms.
Adin stole an unattended tank of amber from a tree stump. Stumbling in the darkness, he gulped it down in a single mouthful, holding the downturned vessel over his lips as he savored the last drops. Ren knocked him lightly on the jaw.
“Don’t worry, Ren, next one’s for you.” Adin drew an amber-soaked grin.
“I’m not worried about my next drink.” Ren was worried about soldiers, they were everywhere in the city, but they had managed to get this far. He wanted to keep moving, but Adin seemed unaware of the tenuous nature of his escape. Ren glimpsed iron helms in the distance. “Let’s go,” he said, still walking, tugging at Adin’s shoulder. “You won’t be safe until we’ve left Feren.”
They ran, past the grubby, unlit cottages on the outskirts of the city, the hawkers of pots and blackthorn trinkets, past the wagons piled high with logs, only stopping when the crowds started to give way to farmers’ crofts and hunters’ lodges, to the dark quiet of the Gray Wood. At a crossroads where the path diverged in four directions, they waited on the road, looking through the darkness at the way they had come. Hooves beat in the distance. Soldiers approached, riding horses, moving faster than before. The boys hurried from the road, sloshing through ankle-deep mud and waist-high bracken, the green fronds brushing their arms, catching their tunics’ loosely woven fibers. Huddling behind the spiky trunk of a blackthorn, they collapsed aside each other, heads spinning, their breath coming in gasps. They were malnourished, bone-thin, exhausted, but alive. Just as they had been in the Priory.
“Pain makes the man,” Adin murmured. Ren wanted to laugh; his belly shook but he decided it was better to keep quiet.
As they sat in darkness, horns blared and hooves clopped. Ren exhaled in relief while Adin slumped in the pine needles that skirted the blackthorn’s bell, his body so emaciated he looked like a reed bent in the wind. The smell of the starving was everywhere on him: His body was eating itself. Adin was in such poor condition he made the Feren slaves look healthy. He would not have lasted much longer. Ren immediately reached into his pack for a little bread and meat, handing them over to his friend.
“I could kiss you—you lovely bastard,” Adin said, eating greedily but swallowing with difficulty.
“Hush,” said Ren. He checked, but the soldiers were gone. “Save it for the whores.” Ren covered Adin’s mouth to avoid the boy’s stink. “On second thought, start with the slaves. Have you smelled yourself? I sniffed horseshit at the Dromus that was less ripe.”
Adin nearly choked on a bite of bread. “You would know.” He cocked his head. “Prisoners don’t meet whores, though I did smell a horse or two on the road.” Adin exhaled into his palm. “You’re right. Smells like turd. In fact, I smell like turd.” He brushed dirt from his fingers. “Ren.” Adin sobered. “Remember how we thought the Priory was the worst thing that could happen to us?”
Ren felt a chill.
“Well, after a day with the fucking slavers, the Priory felt like a bloody paradise. I ate beetles and bristles in the desert, a rat in my cell. They gave me a bucket to shit in, but they never emptied it.” Adin’s words went quiet, his gaze distant. “It feels like decades since Solus, how long has it been?”
“Weeks.”
“Fuck. I thought it had been longer.” Adin brushed back his hair and raised his eyebrows; he tried not to look weak or sad, though he looked both. “So your father—he’s dead, then?”
“No, the king is not dead … but he may as well be. He was called to Sola, to appear before the emperor.” Ren sighed.
“To gaze upon the Soleri is to gaze upon the sun, and no man can survive that light,” Adin quoted. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, my friend.” He put a hand on Ren’s shoulder and gripped it manfully.
Ren shrugged. “I barely knew the old man. I cannot say I am sorry, or not sorry. I never expected to meet him. I suppose…” He searched for words. “I suppose I should be happy I had a chance to know him.”
“So you are the true heir of Harkana.” Adin changed the subject. “You actually killed one of those oversized deer?”
“No need.” Ren held up his walking stick, brushed the dirt from it, and revealed the eld horn.
“You’re a king, then? So, why’d you come for me?”
“Are you that fucking dumb?” Ren asked.
Adin shrugged. “Maybe—care to enlighten me?”
“The eld—it’s just some deer. It doesn’t make me a king, not yet, not until I’ve taken my throne. In the meantime, I saved your ass—now, that’s something, isn’t it?”
“So you’re really here by yourself? No kingsguard? No black shields?” It took a while for Ren to figure out that Adin was joking. “Mithra’s ass, Ren. I thought you were leading me to a Harkan legion. We’re really alone?”
“Just you, me, and that piss-soaked rag you’ve got tied around your waist.” Ren stood. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take the damned throne of Harkana before I came for you, so for now you will have to suffice with my help and no one’s else’s.”
“Fair enough,” said Adin, shivering in the night air. The boy was almost naked. Ren offered his tunic, but Adin just shook his head. He was half-starved and half-clothed, but he still had his pride.
“We should keep moving.” Ren walked to the edge of the trail and glanced in both directions, but saw only darkness. “Which way?” Ren said. They stood at the crossing of three roads. “This is your country, isn’t it?”
“You’ll excuse me if I’ve forgotten the way.” Adin’s voice caught. “I was only eight when I left and I’ve spent the last few weeks in chains.” When he saw the look on Ren’s face he snorted. “I was only pulling your leg, old man. This way.” He pointed down the dim road that led south.
When Ren still looked doubtful, Adin cocked his head in the opposite direction. “Soldiers’re coming from the north—we’re certainly not going in that direction.”
Voices rang in the darkness, men coming down the Rifka road. His friend was right.
“Hurry.” Adin pushed Ren in front of him.