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  “What did the village get in trade?” asked Marsden warily.

  “I believe they got the death of their baron’s son and his ward, who’d been assaulting local girls. My master assisted in healing one of the victims. He never told me all the details, though. It wasn’t the sort of thing you share with a seven-year-old.”

  “And he taught you magic?” asked Roland.

  Now Sairis smiled. “Not at first. At first, he taught me to grow beans.”

  Marsden gave a snort of laughter. “Good drought crop, beans.”

  Sairis nodded. “He taught me to collect rainwater and dew. He taught me to raise pigeons. They go out and forage for themselves. They make eggs that you can eat, and you can eat the birds in a pinch. Their deaths provide a tiny bit of magic, although it’s not much.” He hesitated. “Your wards blunt his power, but they don’t do anything to mine.”

  Marsden nodded. “The wards are specific.” He frowned. “Fifteen years... So he took you in the same year that we warded his lands?”

  Sairis nodded. “That winter. I think he knew he’d need someone to fetch and carry—someone who could leave the tower and was less recognizable.” And perhaps a potential source of magic. A pigeon who could fly off and feed itself, who could lay eggs...and who could be eaten in a pinch.

  Sairis would have defended his master to the death in front of Marsden, but he knew perfectly well that Karkaroth was not “safe” in any traditional sense of the word. Their initial arrangement had been the cautious alliance of predators. There’d been plenty of times when Sairis had felt like a slave—carrying water up all those stairs when the rain and dew collectors were inadequate, gardening and cooking and mending, fetching ingredients for spells, carting in soil that hadn’t been poisoned with salt.

  The first time a knight in search of glory had caught him outside, he’d screamed for help, knowing that his master was deep in a trance at the top of the tower. Sairis had been certain he was going to die...and then fire had lanced through the air and cooked the knight in his armor.

  Sairis had been too astonished to move. He was still standing there, staring at the smoking remains, when Karkaroth came limping down the stairs—pale and obviously drained. They’d stood side-by-side for a moment, wordless, and then Karkaroth had said, “Well, get him out of the beans.” After a moment, he’d added, “And make a pile of the armor; it’s worth money. See if you can find where he’s tethered his horse. You’ll need it to carry the stuff.”

  Sairis knew, even then, that this was not what most children would have called love. But it was the first time anybody had come to his defense since the awful word “witch” had landed on him like a brand.

  As the years passed, the nature of their alliance had shifted. Sairis came to love the old man with his curious mind, his shocking pragmatism, his rare moments of levity, and his hard-won knowledge. Sairis also came to understand how badly the poisoning of Karkaroth’s land and the destruction of his village had hurt him. He was a fragile, fading thing, too proud to admit defeat, dying slowly with his wood. And now he was asleep, and Sairis was afraid he would never wake.

  Aloud, Sairis said, “Do I still get the Parabola River when this is over?”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Roland.

  Chapter 21. Watering Hole

  They reached the well a little before evening. It was some distance off the road, but Roland recognized the faint blue blaze on the side of a tree, which showed the way to a narrow path that switchbacked down the slope. The sweat of their long ride turned unpleasantly cold and clammy as they descended into the shadow of the ridge. Roland thought of the hot baths and warm meals, doubtless available if only they rode on to the fort less than a mile further down. But he wasn’t sure what reception he might receive there, especially with Sairis. He wasn’t sure what report his uncle might have spread. Best to make do by ourselves in the woods and push on along the Ridge Road at first light.

  He consoled himself by saying, “We are definitely stopping at Mosshaven tomorrow for fresh clothes, supplies, and a bath.”

  Marsden grunted. “Might as well. No matter what we do, Roland, it seems unlikely that we will arrive in time for this battle.”

  “I have hope. Mosshaven overlooks the mouth of the pass. The people there should be able to tell us whether armies have gone by recently.”

  “I’ve heard of Mosshaven,” said Sairis cautiously. “It’s a strange place.”

  Roland nodded. “The Sundering nearly destroyed the town, and the war with Zolsestron completely destroyed the trade, but the locals are resourceful. They claim their hot mineral springs have magical healing properties since the Sundering. They’ve built some excellent baths, and they’ll sell you all sorts of charms made with the water. Personally, I doubt the springs are magical, but they make a fine place to relax for an hour and get clean after riding through the mountains for days.” Roland hesitated. “Have you ever had a bath?”

  Sairis went rigid with indignation. “Of course I have baths!”

  “I meant in a bathhouse. They’re not common in the lowlands anymore, not with our land becoming a desert—”

  Roland broke off as he caught sight of the spring. It had been capped in stone and locked with a great chain. Bronze pipes bore water down to the fort and the village beyond, but an effort had been made to protect it from marauders. Roland hadn’t been this way in years. He opened his mouth to ask whether magic might open locks...and something fell on him from above.

  Roland was knocked sideways in the saddle. Cato screamed and reared. The forest blurred as the terrified horse spun, leaping and twisting. Roland had a brief moment to wonder if Sairis had fallen, and he was dragged from the saddle. Roland hit the ground hard, confused and striking out with fists, knees, and elbows. A weight pinned him to the earth. He felt the prick of claws across his throat and shoulder.

  Now he knew what had him. He felt angry at himself for not seeing this coming. Didn’t predators always lie in wait at watering holes? Regrets flashed through his head. He was going to miss the battle, Daphne’s wedding, nieces and nephews, the chance to show Sairis those hot springs...

  A noise like thunder made Roland’s ears ring. Words that Roland could not have repeated seemed to vibrate in the air around him.

  “Do you honestly think you can bind me without a name?” sneered a voice over Roland’s head. “Stay back or I’ll kill him.”

  Roland opened his eyes. Marsden was standing a few feet away, a hand raised, his expression fierce and focused. Roland was relieved to see Sairis in the act of picking himself up off the loamy trail. He looked shaken, but not hurt. Fire blossomed in his hand as he got to his feet.

  Instantly, the claws at Roland’s throat sharpened to bright points of pain. He could feel wet warmth trickle across his collarbone. “Stand down, necromancer, or I will kill your lover.”

  “We want the sword,” said another voice behind Roland—a woman this time. Candice. “Give us the sword, and we’ll let him go.”

  All emotion had drained from Sairis’s face in the sickly green glow of necromantic fire. He spoke to the demon. “Are you tethered to it? Are you under some kind of command involving the sword, a compulsion?”

  The leopard said nothing, only tensed. The slow slide of its claws into Roland’s shoulder was so agonizing that he could not stifle a wheezing sound of pain. Roland’s eyes watered as he tried to suppress his body’s response. The demon is using you to make Sairis and Marsden make mistakes. Shut up!

  But if Sairis was distressed by Roland’s cry, he gave no sign of it. His face was utterly still in the light of his fire.

  “You don’t know the spells to properly claim the sword,” said Candice, “and your magic is the wrong kind anyway. You’re not sorcerers. If you want Hastafel dealt with, you have to give the sword to me.”

  “You seem to be taking your cues from a demon,” said Marsden carefully. “Surely even an inexperienced sorcerer must know that demons lie and that they seek to co
ntrol and destroy their masters.”

  Roland could hear the frustration in Candice’s voice. “Hastafel is Mal’s summoner, not me. Mal just wants to go home.”

  A moment’s silence while they all seemed to be debating how to win the standoff.

  Then darkness. Roland wondered whether he had blacked out, but it was only Sairis’s flame, extinguished. “I believe you,” came Sairis’s voice. “Let Roland go, and we’ll give you the sword.”

  Marsden made an indignant huff, but Sairis talked over him, his voice sharpening. “We’ll sit down and discuss it like adults who all want the same thing.”

  The light had momentarily obliterated Roland’s night vision, and only the faintest shades of twilight remained under the darkening trees. Roland couldn’t see Marsden’s face, only his rigid posture.

  “Look,” said Sairis, still addressing himself to Candice, “you probably think I’m holding a grudge because, last we met, you pinned a regicide on me and ran off. But I’m a necromancer. Taking the blame is practically my specialty. Everyone here has reasons to distrust each other. I’ve spent most of my life protecting myself from knights like Roland. Marsden has spent most of his life collaring people like me. But we’re all trying to stop Hastafel. If you are trying to do that, too, then we are on the same side.”

  Marsden remained silent. Is he really going to let Sairis invite a poorly-bound demon and an unstable teenaged sorcerer to join us?

  A heartbeat’s pause and Sairis added, “Don’t be put off by Marsden. I set him on fire a few days ago, and we’re still friends.”

  Roland supposed that nothing that came out of Sairis’s mouth should surprise him anymore, but that last word did. He could see Marsden twitch—force himself not to look at Sairis. Suddenly the dean’s posture was less certain.

  Sairis was clearly focused on Candice. “What do you say, my lady? I can melt that lock and we can all have some water, some fire, and some food. We can take a look at that sword together. Or you can kill Roland and have me as an implacable enemy for the rest of your life and possibly in the next.”

  “The sword first,” growled the demon.

  “No,” said Sairis. “Trust first.”

  Candice spoke at last. “Let him go, Mal.”

  The leopard gave a bone-rattling growl. It’s not bound to her will... thought Roland. Then, to his amazement, the demon released him.

  Chapter 22. Thorough Inspection

  Roland was worried about Cato. The leopard offered to track the horse for him, but the idea of blundering about in the dark woods with a demon made Roland’s skin crawl. He was relieved when Sairis vetoed this idea before Roland could get a word out.

  Marsden agreed. “I will get a fire started, so that Lady Candice can get warm. You two go find Roland’s horse.”

  “Are you sure...” began Roland, but Sairis took his arm and marched him away, following the trail down the slope towards the fort.

  “Marsden can take care of himself,” he muttered. He was moving very fast now. They rounded a couple of switchbacks and narrowly missed plunging down a rocky slope. Roland was about to ask whether they might have some light and whether Sairis had any evidence that Cato had run in this direction, when Sairis stopped abruptly and rounded on him. Something glowed in the darkness—not so bright as flame, but not so threatening either. It was the charm Sairis had used when they were searching the palace. “Hold this,” he commanded, and Roland did, surprised.

  Sairis unlaced Roland’s shirt with what felt like rough movements until Roland realized that the right word was “clumsy.” Sairis’s hands were shaking.

  “It’s not that bad,” began Roland, but Sairis ignored him, tilting Roland’s chin up to examine the stinging punctures across his neck, stripping off his coat and tossing it on the ground, pulling his shirt down to examine his left shoulder. Sairis ran his hands inside the shirt and down past the edge of Roland’s trousers to the spot where claws had grazed his hip. “Sairis, really, it’s not—”

  “You don’t know that!” hissed Sairis. “It’s a demon! Just...let me look.”

  Roland was obediently still. The feel of Sairis’s unapologetic and oddly businesslike intrusion inside his clothes was having a curiously uplifting effect upon Roland’s morale. Sairis’s inspection included muttered spells that made all the hair on Roland’s body prickle unpleasantly for an instant, followed by entirely mundane poking and prodding. “Sairis, unless you can see something he did to me with magic, I really am alright. It hurt like hell’s own teeth when he put his claws into my shoulder, but in the end, these are scratches. I just need to keep them clean.”

  Sairis had Roland half undressed on the path, his shirt unlaced to the waist, his trousers loose around his hips, the night air cold against his skin. Roland could see the exact moment when Sairis decided that the wounds were, indeed, superficial. He sagged visibly and took a step back. “Yes... You’re right. I—”

  Roland stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. “But thank you.”

  Sairis’s arms closed convulsively around Round’s chest.

  “You were so calm back there,” muttered Roland. “You even had me fooled.”

  Sairis said nothing for a moment. Then he drew a quick breath and whispered, “You should go...to your sister, to your soldiers, even to your uncle. I don’t think any of them are likely to put you in as much danger as I am.”

  Roland stroked his hair. “I thought you were pretty angry with me this afternoon.”

  Sairis swallowed. He turned his face so that it was against bare skin. “I don’t know how anyone could stay angry with you, Roland. I certainly can’t.”

  Roland laughed.

  “It would be absurd to be angry at you for things your father did,” continued Sairis.

  “Maybe,” said Roland, “but people stay angry over less. I still loved my father. That’s not going to change just because you hated him.”

  Sairis said nothing.

  Roland shut his eyes. He could feel Sairis’s heartbeat against his chest—such a fragile thing. “It feels like other people’s choices are going to tear us apart.”

  “I’m right here,” whispered Sairis.

  He lifted his face and Roland kissed him. Sairis’s lips parted like an offering or an invitation. The weight of history between them seemed suddenly lighter than air. They were not a knight and a necromancer. They were just two young men who fancied each other, kissing on a path on a beautiful fall evening.

  Roland jumped when a horse nickered beside his ear. Sairis gave a startled hitch of laughter. Cato had his head practically on Roland’s shoulder, looking at Sairis as smugly as a horse could reasonably look. “Hey there, boy,” Roland managed.

  Sairis looked at the horse skeptically. “Are you sure he’s not some kind of demon?”

  “Just well-trained.”

  “You really should get on his back and ride down from these hills. I’m serious, Roland. I’ll think of something to tell Marsden and Candice.”

  Roland began adjusting his clothes. He scooped his coat off the ground. “No.”

  Sairis sighed. “Then you’ll need to let me put some wards on you. I can’t lose my mind like that every time some magical creature attacks you.”

  Roland smiled. He grinned so widely that Sairis noticed, even in the darkness. “What?”

  Roland set to work checking Cato’s tack. “You losing your mind over me.”

  Sairis shook his head.

  “Will these wards hurt?”

  “Er... No.”

  “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

  “They won’t hurt. I just need to...write them onto your skin.”

  “My naked skin?”

  “Yes.”

  Roland wished he could see Sairis’s face. He was positive he was blushing in the darkness. “That does sound harrowing.”

  “I could put them on over clothes, but they won’t work as well.”

  “We couldn’t have that. But if I have to
be naked for this, it only seems fair that you are, too.”

  Sairis swallowed a laugh. “This will be the most distracted spell work I have ever performed.”

  Roland took Cato’s reins, threw an arm around Sairis, and started back up the path. “As long as I’m a pleasant distraction.”

  “You are a blindingly pleasant distraction.”

  “That sounds violent.”

  “Heart-stopping.”

  “Also violent.”

  “Worth coming down from a tower for.”

  “Alright, I like that one.”

  Chapter 23. The Demon and the Princess

  Sairis had that wobbly feeling in his gut that always followed an intense situation—as though his body thought that now would be a safe time to fall apart. Don’t, he commanded himself. There’s Marsden, a demon, and a sorcerer with anger management issues. You cannot curl up in Roland’s lap and cry.

  At least the silhouettes around the fire were moving calmly. It didn’t look like they were fighting or even arguing. Something smelled fragrantly of dough and cinnamon. Griddle cakes?

  As they drew closer, Sairis could see that Marsden had his frying pan propped over a cheerful blaze. Without looking up, he said, “Sairis, I think you’re the most qualified person here to melt the lock off that well.”

  Sairis almost smiled. But then his eyes strayed across the fire, and his smile died. Candice looked about as one would expect of a princess who had spent the better part of a week in the woods. Her dress was in tatters, her braided hair wild, her cheeks hollow. She was sitting with her arms around her knees, leaning against something that Sairis at first took for a stump in the shadows beyond the fire. Then it moved, and Sairis saw that it was another person. His green eyes reflected the firelight to an unnatural degree. Of course.

  Sairis’s skin prickled. He forced himself to walk past them to the well, where he made short work of the lock, melting it into a puddle on the stone plinth. He drew off so much heat from Marsden’s fire in the process that the flame disappeared into the coals. Marsden grumbled that his work was not a heat source. Then he relit the fire with magic. He’d have started over with twigs if it was just the three of us, but he doesn’t want to be in the dark with a demon. Roland came over to lift the heavy cap from the well, all the while casting uneasy glances toward the fire.