The Border Page 6

  He looked back twice and saw only smoke and confusion. However, when he looked a third time, a party of riders had set out. They appeared to have torches and dogs. Sairis gave a mirthless laugh. I wonder if they brought pitchforks.

  To his annoyance, he spotted a lone rider halfway between himself and the hunting party. Of course the horse was white. What part of ‘stay away from me’ don’t you understand?

  * * * *

  Roland expected Sairis to change directions in the first stand of trees. It was what any hunted creature would do. Unfortunately for Sairis, dead elk were not particularly stealthy. Pieces of this one kept falling off, which made Roland’s job easy, though gruesome. It also meant that the hunting party had no difficulty, either.

  Roland kept hoping that they would turn back. It all depended on who had ordered the pursuit—whether it was Lord Winthrop himself, one of the lesser barons, or a spontaneous outburst on the part of the men. Roland couldn’t guess which. He’d left the paddock well ahead of them and gained ground in the open field, where Cato could outpace any horse in Winthrop’s stables.

  As Roland and his quarry began climbing into the foothills over increasingly broken ground, Roland lost sight of the hunters. The baying of the dogs grew harder to follow amid the ravines. Roland hoped that meant they were farther away.

  The night settled into what promised to be a long, grueling race. Roland had time to think as he rode, time to ask himself what he was doing. Sairis told me to stay away from him. He said it without witnesses. I can’t pretend he spoke for anyone else’s benefit.

  Sairis is in the wilderness, practically naked, without supplies or even shoes. He’s badly burned. Soldiers are hunting him with dogs. He’s hardly been out of his tower his whole life. What chance does he have alone?

  The image of Sairis’s snarling contempt played over and over in Roland’s mind. “Did you really think, Roland Malconwy, that I could befriend anyone of that name? Or that a necromancer could trust a knight?”

  The words had been delivered with such sincere vitriol that Roland could not quite convince himself the speech had been entirely false. He struggled to replace it with memories of their time together, but those moments in the wagon reached out like flames licking up dry wood, poisoning the past and threatening the future. Daphne said I was a fool to trust him. She said it in the kindest possible terms, but she knew something like this would happen if I persisted.

  Why am I following him?

  Roland concentrated on the rocky ground ahead, squinting for signs of the elk’s passing, the bits of gristle left on thorns. I want an explanation, he realized. I want to hear him say it when neither of us is in chains or on fire or performing for other people. Roland was beginning to have a terrible suspicion that he would not like this conversation, but he swore to himself that he would bear it to the end.

  And I am not going to let a man I have kissed get torn apart by dogs in the wilderness. He can tell me how he never cared for me after I get him somewhere safe.

  Time passed like a dream. Roland surprised a black bear and then a pair of foxes sniffing around the carrion tracks of the elk. He guessed it was around two in the morning—that hour when the body is most insistent upon sleep. Roland had slept little the night before and he could feel the weight of exhaustion in his limbs—a sensation not unlike drunkenness. I wonder whether it would be safe to stop for a few hours? Surely Sairis can’t ride all night with his injuries. Roland thought of the last time he’d seen Sairis badly hurt. He needed sleep to recover from Hastafel’s sword. Water, too.

  The hills did get more moisture than Mistala’s drought-ridden plains. Roland had crossed the first of the mountain rivers about thirty minutes ago. He’d expected Sairis to try walking downstream, if only to confuse the dogs, but the elk’s wet footprints had been plainly visible coming up the stony far bank. The fact that they had not yet dried assured Roland that he was not far behind.

  Roland emerged suddenly from the trees into a meadow. He jerked Cato up hard when he saw the elk, standing in the moonlight, head down, unnaturally still.

  Roland swore. There was no one on its back.

  Chapter 12. Fighting

  Roland heard the dogs before he reached the stream. Evidently, they had not been so easily fooled. Or perhaps the smell of live necromancer was sufficiently different from dead elk to foil Sairis’s ruse. In any event, the animals were baying loudly somewhere upstream. They sounded so excited that Roland wondered whether they’d already caught him.

  As he approached the noise, Roland dismounted and led Cato as quickly and quietly as possible. If they’ve caught him, I will probably have only one chance to get him away. Roland was an excellent swordsman, but not such a fool as to pit himself against an entire hunting party. He left his sword strapped to the saddle, easily in reach of his hand, but not bumping against his hip.

  The river had carved a deep gorge that narrowed as Roland followed the sounds of the dogs. He caught another noise underneath the baying—a hiss and churn. Waterfall.

  Roland was moving along the side of the gorge, well above the river, when he spotted the silver tumble ahead. The water fell from quite a height into a basin of roiling foam. As he drew closer, Roland could see the dogs running around the edge, yapping. Men on horseback paced with them, pointing and calling to each other. Roland spotted a dozen riders before he lost count.

  The cliff over which the water tumbled had a shadowy alcove behind it, and the dogs clearly thought Sairis had gone in. As Roland watched, one of the animals flung itself into the basin and struggled towards the waterfall, baying its bloodlust. More followed, and soon the men were dismounting to pick their way over the stones, swords in hand. Roland wasn’t sure what to do. He hoped the men intended to take Sairis alive, but Sairis had just left a military camp in flames. He wondered if Sairis was capable of defending himself at this point. His magic isn’t inexhaustible. How much more can he have after melting his own mage collar, animating a dead elk for hours, and trying to heal himself of severe burns?

  The dogs were in the cave behind the waterfall now, their yips echoing off the stone. Roland gathered that the cave was extensive. Someone lit a torch behind the waterfall, presenting a confused panorama of haloed water and moving shadows. Roland forced himself to breathe evenly and wait.

  He was so focused on the glow behind the falls that he almost missed movement on the ledge above. Roland blinked. A questing hand reached out of the rocky shadows along the bank at the top. The person hauled himself up with obvious effort and lay still among the rocks. He was on a level with Roland, high above the waterfall cave, not twenty paces away.

  Roland darted forward, dropping Cato’s reins. The destrier would wait until Roland returned or danger drove him off. Roland moved light-footed over the rocks, praying to any god who might be listening that Sairis would take another moment to catch his breath after what must have been a difficult climb.

  He still hadn’t moved when Roland reached the stream and was forced to cross it. The water was fast and shallow here. Roland stepped as softly as he could, ducking to avoid presenting a profile to the men at the foot of the waterfall.

  Sairis finally raised his head. He was still wearing the remains of his shirt and bedraggled trousers. His chest and throat looked pink and raw, but no longer blackened. His hands and arms, by contrast, were bleeding with fresh cuts from his climb, and Roland could only imagine the state of his feet. He stared at Roland, wild-eyed, his hair damp from the waterfall’s spray.

  Roland raised a finger to his lips and motioned furiously. Just come with me for gods’ sakes. We can jump on Cato and get clean away before the soldiers have any idea where you’ve gone.

  Sairis turned and scrambled back into the hole from whence he’d come.

  Roland bit down on a torrent of frustrated obscenities and made the reckless decision to follow. It was a narrow declivity, but not so tight that Roland couldn’t more or less drop most of the way.

  He cam
e down almost on top of Sairis on a narrow ledge, drenched in the spray of the falls and ringing with the cries of dogs perhaps fifteen feet below them. Sairis staggered back from Roland, slipped on the mossy rock, and went down, catching himself on his hands just before his backside met the ledge.

  He looked up with an expression of furious astonishment. To Roland’s shock and horror, he drew a breath as though to shout.

  No!

  Roland was on him in an instant, hand clamped around his mouth. “Are you insane?” he snarled in his ear. “They will kill you! Be quiet!”

  Sairis tried to bite him. He wrenched up against Roland with surprising strength and flipped him over, now on the extreme edge of the slippery rock shelf. Roland’s heart gave a painful squeeze as he felt himself slide a little. He sensed empty air beside his right shoulder, imagined the deadly drop. Military training took over, and he elbowed Sairis a cracking blow across the face that should have stunned anyone, let alone an injured man half his size.

  Sairis didn’t roll off him, though. He crumpled forward, disoriented by the blow, but still snarling. Roland moved without thinking to wrap one hand around Sairis’s throat. He managed a rough whisper, “Get off!”

  Heat flared beside Roland’s left ear. He risked a glance and saw that Sairis had a ball of green flame spinning in his palm. It gave off surprisingly little light, but an enormous amount of heat.

  Roland remembered the way Hastafel’s demon knight had burned and howled. He thought, belatedly, that perhaps Sairis was quite capable of protecting himself. From dogs and hunters and foolish lovers.

  Sairis’s free hand clenched around Roland’s wrist, but Roland didn’t let go of his throat. They stared at each other, the green fire striking sparks from Sairis’s dark eyes. You’re right. I don’t know you at all.

  Roland tightened his grip. He wondered whether he could break Sairis’s neck before Sairis slammed that ball of hot agony into his face.

  A memory:

  “I would never take a swing at you, Sairis.”

  “I’ll remind you that you said that one day.”

  Roland’s vision blurred. You died in my arms once already. He shut his eyes, drew a breath. His voice came barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I can do it, Sair. You go first.”

  Roland didn’t open his eyes, so he was completely unprepared when Sairis leaned forward against the pressure of his hand, and kissed him.

  Sairis’s mouth tasted of salt. His throat moved under Roland’s fingers in a hitch that could have been sorrow or pain or just bewildered frustration.

  Below them, hunters were discussing how far they should let the dogs range into the tunnels. Their voices sounded dreadfully close. Roland wanted to say something to Sairis. Something like, “Do you want to fuck me or kill me? I wish you would make up your mind.”

  But he didn’t dare. Sairis was kissing him, and Roland kissed back with bruising intensity. All of the violence, exhaustion, and fear of the last two days ran together in that kiss. Sairis still had a white-knuckled grip on Roland’s wrist, his fingers digging in with clarifying pain. The ball of fire was making Roland’s ear uncomfortably warm.

  Roland still could have choked him, and Sairis still could have incinerated him, and they kissed as though every second might be their last. Roland became suddenly aware that Sairis was straddling his hips and that he was as aroused as he’d ever been in his life. He made a thrusting motion, and Sairis moaned against his mouth.

  “Shhh,” hissed Roland, and did it again.

  Sairis shifted down a fraction, so that they were in more satisfying contact. In doing so, he lost some of his leverage. Roland shamelessly seized the opportunity to roll over on top of him, careless of the ball of flame. You burn me up, you won’t get off, asshole.

  There was a brief moment when Roland actually thought Sairis would smash the fire into his face. Then it went out, leaving them in even more complete darkness. Roland found his mouth again. Sairis kissed him like Roland was the antidote to all the poison in the world. At the same time, he bucked and fought, tried to get a knee into Roland’s gut, nearly hit him in the face.

  Roland caught Sairis’s arms and pinned them beside his head. He let the full weight of his body come down on top of the smaller man and held him there easily in spite of his thrashing.

  The hunters were still talking below. Dogs were still whining and barking. This is madness. But Roland couldn’t bring himself to care. He rubbed his straining erection against Sairis’s writhing warmth and swallowed the sounds he made.

  Sairis had wrapped his legs around Roland’s waist. Roland got a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back to make a long, satisfying line of his throat. He licked and kissed and bit while Sairis’s nails dug into his shoulders and back. It still felt as much like fighting as fucking.

  Sairis flinched when Roland’s mouth encountered the raw, puckered skin at the hollow of his throat. Roland hesitated. Sairis leaned up and sank his teeth into Roland’s shoulder. It was all Roland could do to stifle a yelp. You absolute bastard.

  He levered himself up and reached down. Their struggle had already gone part way towards opening their trousers. Roland finished the job with a few practiced tugs and flicks. He pulled Sairis roughly out of his clothes and stroked them together, hard and fast.

  Sairis let out a noise that was very close to a cry, and Roland clapped his free hand over his mouth. He leaned close to his ear and murmured, “Shut up.”

  Sairis’s breath came short and sharp against Roland’s fingers. He made another whine, and Roland forced a thumb between his teeth. Sairis’s tongue rubbed, warm and wet against the pad of his thumb, sucking. Roland’s climax hit him in a hard spike of pleasure that made him gasp and he let go of their cocks to keep his balance.

  He withdrew his finger from Sairis’s mouth. The desire to kiss him gently was almost overwhelming, to move down his body in warm, wet licks, and finish him off. But if you want to do this the selfish way, my friend, we’re going to see it through to the end. And besides, you need a bath.

  Sairis gave an impatient squirm beneath him. Roland ignored it. He pinned one hand over Sairis’s head, caught the other wrist, and guided it down to his leaking shaft. I seem to be done, my dear. Your turn.

  He could tell that Sairis didn’t like this, that he was confused and painfully aroused and a little indignant that Roland was refusing to touch him now that he’d gotten his own pleasure. But Roland started lazily licking his throat. He moved to an ear and sucked. Sairis dropped his head back. His hand began moving.

  Roland kept nibbling the sensitive skin of his ear and the side of his neck while Sairis worked his own shaft. It was educational. Roland paid attention to the rhythm, to the places Sairis was touching, feeling the slide of his hand between their bodies.

  When he could tell Sairis was very close, Roland reached down, running his hand over Sairis’s flank and along his ass, touching him through his clothes. He had a surprisingly firm bum for an academic. I suppose that’s what living in a tower will do for you. Roland pressed a finger against the tight ring of muscle between his cheeks and laughed soundlessly when Sairis climaxed almost at once, warm and sticky against Roland’s stomach.

  Roland did kiss him gently then. He wondered if Sairis was going to bite him again, but Sairis only tucked his head against Roland’s shoulder when Roland pulled away.

  Damn it. Roland was well on his way to being hard again. Sairis was clinging to him in the darkness, and Roland wished he could turn him over and fuck him properly. He wished he could hear the sounds he would make if they weren’t hiding for their lives. If they weren’t...fighting?

  What are we doing to each other?

  He looked at Sairis’s shadowed face in the faint light from the torches below—hollow-eyed, unreadable. All the tension had left his body, and he felt limp as a dead thing under Roland’s weight. This is the part where you explain that most of what’s happened in the last two days has been a terrible misundersta
nding.

  But they couldn’t risk a real conversation, and Sairis was nodding off in spite of the uneven rock under his back. Roland struggled off him and then half helped, half dragged him to the cave wall. He wrapped Sairis’s shivering body in his own warmth, turned his back on the cave with its dogs and hunters, and hoped the world would leave them alone for a while.

  Chapter 13. Illusions

  “Well, this explains a lot.”

  Roland jerked awake. Mid-morning sunlight danced around him on the cave walls, refracted by the waterfall. The brightness seemed sadistically cheerful. Roland felt like he’d participated in a drunken tavern brawl and then slept on the floor in his clothes. Sairis stirred in his arms, lifting his face to squint owlishly in the direction of the voice.

  Roland turned to see Marsden standing a few feet away, looking both annoyed and winded. Sairis came to life with an explosion of movement, lunging across Roland to shout a spell that hurt Roland’s ears. Marsden dissolved. Roland’s mind had no other word for what he saw. The magician’s features ran together as lines of yellow light exploded across his body in hairline fissures.

  Roland clamped an arm around Sairis’s waist as Sairis tried to scramble up. “No!”

  Roland expected Marsden to crumple and fall from the ledge, but the magician remained on his feet. He didn’t even stagger, although he turned his head with a sharp sound of what might have been pain.

  Sairis’s knee met Roland’s stomach, and Roland released him with a grunt. They both stood up together. Marsden’s features had resolved. Roland stared at him. The magician was still more or less the same size, perhaps a little shorter, but the shape of his body and the planes of his face had altered. His beard had vanished. His voice, when he spoke, came out higher and with a querulous tone that it usually lacked, “Well, I suppose I had that coming. But I think you’d better settle down now and listen to me.”