Red Prince Page 3

  “But haven’t we done enough?” Vena drew her daughter closer and gestured with her other hand. “Shed enough blood?”

  Mastopo nearly choked. “How dare you say that? You have murdered innocent people.”

  “And we have renounced that way!” Vena’s chest heaved, her eyes blazing. “We know we were taken for fools. We know we were used and manipulated.” She spat into the dirt and spun away. “And we will be forever branded because of it.”

  “As you deserve!” Lina hissed. She stalked toward Vena’s turned back, Mastopo matching her stride.

  “If not for the Great Spirit’s intervention, you would have painted yourselves with my brother’s blood!” Lina lurched forward, reaching for Vena. “Your skin is stained with the blood of brothers from—”

  “Enough!” Lakhoni covered the space between him and Lina in two strides and grabbed her shoulder with one hand and Mastopo’s with the other. “This arguing does us no good.” He pulled the brother and sister into a rough turn so they faced him. “We do not all have to go after Gadnar.” Lakhoni let the calm of the earth beneath his feet fill him, let it bank the fire of fury that had burned so long in his gut that it seemed it would never fade. He searched for the words and couldn’t find them. So he opened his mouth and let the words find themselves. “But know this—I will track Gadnar. I will cleanse this bloodied land of his evil. I will end this conflict.”

  Silence settled over the trinomo. Lakhoni’s group stood in clusters, surrounded by the dead of the families that Gadnar had slain.

  “I will too,” Alronna said. She had already re-strapped the Sword of Nubal at a slight angle across her back so its hilt peaked above her right shoulder and the tip of its sheath could be seen on her left side. She reached up and fingered the worked pommel of the legendary sword of power. “It is only right.”

  Lakhoni met his sister’s gaze and nodded. She gave him a grim smile.

  “It will be a family affair.” Lamorun stood at Alronna’s side, his smile wide and real.

  Hilana dropped a small armful of wood at the base of the large pile. “I will join this fight. You need more warriors.”

  Lakhoni looked from his brother to Hilana, perfectly aware that the two of them would not be separated for any reason. Something had happened between them on the mountain after Lakhoni and Alronna had left to run down and try to stop Molgar. He never saw one without the other anymore.

  “I will come too.” Simra’s voice was soft and sad-sounding.

  Lakhoni brushed his hand down his long, sheathed dagger and gritted his teeth. He joined Simra, who was still bent over one of Gadnar’s victims. “You don’t have to. It will be dangerous.”

  “Of course it will be.” Simra looked up. “Do you really think I would leave you to chase after the man who did this?” She gestured at the carnage. “I will not kill, but I will not let you die in a cave or forest, slain by him.”

  Lakhoni dropped to a crouch, his throat tight. “Simra, I wish we didn’t have to do this. I wish we didn’t have to live surrounded by so much bloodshed.”

  “We all wish it.” Simra held his gaze with her almost dark brown eyes. “But we will make it so others can live in peace.”

  “I wanted it to be over. I thought it was.”

  “Me too,” Simra said. She stood and drew Lakhoni to his feet. “Let’s finish this.”

  Lakhoni gripped Simra’s strong, capable hand and felt her strength as he stood. He took in the gathered people. “Lamorun, Alronna, and I will teach you all the Dance of Death and Fire. Or at least those who don’t know it.” He gave Simra’s hand a squeeze and let her go, headed toward the forest. “But first we need more wood. The fire must be big. And hot.”

  “Won’t be much problem,” Balon said. “Seems like we haven’t had rain in weeks.”

  “At least a month,” Falon, Balon’s brother, said. “Must not be the season.”

  “Move fast,” Lakhoni said. “We only have an hour of daylight left. At most.”

  With everyone working, the pile of dry wood grew quickly. They carefully arranged the bodies of Gadnar’s most recent victims and Lakhoni bent to a large mound of tinder that Falon had shaved from some dry branches. Lakhoni looked around and made sure everybody was at a distance. He struck his flint and steel and coaxed flames from the tree bark, remembering another moment like this, lighting a fire for his loved ones.

  And lighting a tiny fire under a tree in the frigid cold of a strange winter with snow everywhere and his stomach so empty it felt like it was turning inside out. He’d called it cloak soup.

  He fed the small fire. Exhaustion threatened to pull him into the ground. But it wasn’t his body. He felt strong and healthy—more so than in a long time. Deep inside, in his soul, he was stretched and taxed to his limit. The relentless need to run, stop Molgar and now Gadnar, fight, and survive. Would it ever be over?

  Lakhoni stood and ran his fingertips down his sheathed dagger.

  Yes. It would end.

  He would end it with his family and friends. Gadnar would not be allowed to roam free, sowing chaos and death. And then Lakhoni would be at peace.

  He stepped back from the quickly growing flames. “We will do the Dance of Death and Fire to honor the fallen and to send them to the halls of the Great Spirit trailing joy and light.”

  Alronna faced Lakhoni from across the now blazing bonfire. They all had to step back to keep from being scorched by the heat. She put her arms out to get everyone’s attention. “Usually we would name each of them to call the Great Spirit’s attention.”

  Lakhoni nodded, thankful that Alronna had decided to keep her skepticism quiet. He admitted that he didn’t necessarily think there was a spirit somewhere in the heavens, but tradition demanded respect be paid for the dead. He would make sure these innocents received the ritual in the absence of any survivors they knew. It was the least he could do for not making certain Gadnar was truly killed during the battle of Hamalralin.

  Lamorun’s big voice boomed as he took over the instruction. “We raise our arms, palms turned up, to invite the spirits of the dead to a safe place.” He slid one booted foot across the ground until his legs were spread wide and he was crouching, his arms spread wide.

  Lakhoni and Alronna did the same, the other gathered people mimicking their movements.

  “Mortal clay is shed!” Lamorun stomped with one foot, pivoting, then stomped with both feet, his hands still spread wide.

  Everyone followed his lead. He continued calling out the reason for each step, then he went silent as he moved into the second round of the steps that comprised the Dance of Death and Fire. By the beginning of the third repetition of the steps, everyone else understood and kept time.

  Lakhoni slapped his thighs, catching Simra’s eye as he turned. She moved gracefully, her expression peaceful. A memory of the last time he’d tried to do this Dance, in his own village, surged. Would a Separated melt from a shadow and take him to a cavern of assassins, like Gimno had done?

  Of course not. Lakhoni commanded his thoughts to stop swirling. He opened his senses to the heat from the flame, the cold dirt beneath his thin-soled shoes, the sun filtering through the leaves of the trees. He filled himself and became part of it all.

  Lamorun kept them on track as the group repeated the sequence of steps once for each person who had been slain by Gadnar. As they danced, their feet scuffing clouds of dust up from the earth, Lakhoni found that the peace he felt while doing this Dance of his people seemed to settle on top of the banked fury deep inside.

  Lamorun brought the dance to an end with a final low crouch and slapped his thighs so loudly it sounded like a dry branch cracking. “Their blood will be answered!” Lamorun’s voice sliced through the afternoon air, sharp and loud. Everyone stopped their movement and a moment of silence fell upon the small village, broken only by the crackling of hot embers. The bodies would be completely consumed over the next few hours, but the needful ritual was complete.

  Lakhoni
reached for Simra, who still stood next to him. “I think we should go to your village. As you promised your father.”

  Simra stared at Lakhoni, her hands tightening on his biceps. “Why would we go there? What about Gadnar?” Simra’s brows drew down in confusion. Then she nodded as she understood his intent. “You mean to leave those who can’t or won’t fight there.” Her grip loosened.

  “Yes.” Lakhoni tipped his head toward the north. “We are already on the path there. We can do our best to track Gadnar at the same time.” The moment he said it, he wished he could take the words back.

  Simra’s eyes went wide. “What if—If my father takes him in to heal him—” She cut herself off.

  Lakhoni drew her against him, holding her tightly. “There’s no reason to believe he would find your village. But we will move fast. And your village is much bigger and has warriors.” He thought back. “Like…Mibli?”

  Simra snorted. “Yes. Prancing, strutting Mibli. The overgrown rooster.”

  “Do you think he will believe I’m not a spy now?” Lakhoni drank in Simra’s eyes, the shape of her face.

  “Knowing him, no.” Simra rolled her eyes. “He lives in his own world.”

  Lakhoni laughed and turned. He took in the gathered group. Their faces turned to him at his movement. He raised his voice so all could hear. “We will continue north, as Alronna’s dreams have led us, as long as Gadnar is going that way. We will track him.”

  “We can’t hunt Anor—” Vena caught herself, “I mean Gadnar—with children coming along.” She carefully nudged a fallen branch back into the former bonfire. Prila, Vena’s daughter, held Jasnia’s hand as they circled the funeral embers. The young girl looked to her mother, fear obvious in her big eyes and round cheeks.

  “I was getting to that.” Lakhoni raised his voice again. “We will track Gadnar, but we will also go to Simra’s village, which is not far from here.” He turned to Simra.

  “I think it’s no more than three or four days away,” Simra said.

  “If we need to, we can divide up so that we don’t lose Gadnar’s trail.” Lakhoni studied his group, fairly certain of who would need to be left in Simra’s village. “Those who have no place fighting, or heart for it, will stay in Simra’s village until we find and finish Gadnar.”

  “What do you think he’s trying to do?” Alronna had wandered around the massive pile of hot coals and now stood next to Lakhoni. Her face had finally lost its severe look she’d had when he had freed her—or when Ree had freed her. She was putting on more flesh now. Lakhoni would never forget the sense of peace he’d felt as he watched her bring justice to the wicked Shelu, the man who had enslaved her for long months. Lakhoni could only imagine what that had meant to her. It was no wonder she was less on edge and was finally eating more.

  “I have no idea,” Lakhoni said.

  “He’s going north, like us.” Alronna picked at the scabbard of the Sword of Nubal, which she had adopted as her own. “Is it possible he’s seeking the same place we are?”

  “From your dreams?” Lakhoni shook his head. “That’s impossible. They’re your dreams.” Lakhoni tried to fight his skepticism, but he lost. “Ronna, we don’t even know if your dreams mean anything.”

  Alronna narrowed her eyes. “Why do you refuse to believe me?”

  “You spent months telling everyone who would listen that there was no Great Spirit and now you start having dreams? Like a seer? That doesn’t seem strange to you?” Lakhoni kept his voice calm and friendly. He didn’t want to argue.

  “Who cares if it’s strange? I keep having the same dream and I feel pulled north. Why would I deny it to satisfy your doubt?”

  Lakhoni opened his mouth to retort but had no response.

  “A place of trees and water and some kind of special life. Or power.” Alronna let out a breath, her shoulders hunching. “I don’t understand it. And I don’t know if it’s a real place.”

  “Our people have spoken of a place like that for generations,” Simra said. She placed a hand on Lakhoni’s arm, and one on Alronna’s wrist. “We’re going north anyway. This is a pointless argument between a brother and sister who don’t seem to know how to talk without fighting.” She gave them both a smile.

  Lakhoni felt her warmth and love. The frustration that had been building in his chest dissipated. Simra was right, of course. “I’m sorry, Ronna.” He remembered his sister’s question. “Maybe Gadnar has heard the legends and is trying to get away from everything also. If so, we’re going to find him.”

  “Yes,” Alronna said. She loosened her sword in its scabbard and let it slip back in.

  “Our work here is done,” Lakhoni called out. “We go north. Balon, Falon, let the dogs roam. If Gadnar was bloodied from his murders here, maybe they will find a trace and they can help us track him.”

  The brothers whistled for the dogs, who had disappeared into the woods after having been shooed away from the patches of blood on the ground.

  Lakhoni took the lead as usual, with Simra at his side. He gave the still hot funeral coals a final look and headed to the edge of the clearing. The temperature changed as the shadows of trees hid him from the sun. The cool breeze that blew through the leaves and brush slowly cleared his nostrils of the smell of burning.

  As the rest of the group fell in behind Simra and him, crunching branches and leaves and stumbling over roots, Lakhoni rolled his shoulders and settled into a steady pace, slower than he preferred. The group stretched out, Lina and Mastopo being the slowest and struggling to keep up even with Lakhoni’s slow pace. Within the hour, Lakhoni and Simra stopped to let the group draw closer. The dogs, Feb and Gar, loped past, tongues lolling as they ran. Still no sign of Gadnar. No tracks, no blood. How could a man so mortally injured have survived, much less murdered an entire small village? It was as if the man’s evil was so powerful it gave him some kind of unholy strength.

  “Are we making camp already?” Lamorun’s voice broke Lakhoni’s momentary reverie. Lamorun and Hilana brought up the rear of the group to keep everyone safe. The two of them were ten paces away as the group gathered near Lakhoni.

  “No, just waiting for you, karapo!”

  “You think me slow?” Lamorun sprang into motion and in a flash he stood in front of Lakhoni, grinning and not even breathing hard. “Or do you think I am covered in a hard shell and carry my home on my back?”

  Lakhoni laughed, still marveling at how well Lamorun’s leg had healed after being crushed in the cavern months before. A person shouldn’t have been able to heal from such an injury, but Lamorun had. “Slow. I think you’re slow.” Lakhoni turned, suddenly having to fight tightness in his throat.

  Lamorun. His brother. The brother he and Alronna and their parents had all thought long dead. But who had lived and been enslaved by Molgar and Shelu as well. Lakhoni forced a breath through his constricted throat and chest, wishing Mother and Father had been alive to see Lamorun, to hear his laugh and feel the warmth from his big smile.

  “And you, brother,” Lamorun said, “have a hapcha on your head.”

  Lakhoni shook his head. “We still have a few hours of daylight. Let’s go!” Against his better judgment, he ran a hand through his hair. It was not like a hapcha’s fur. For one, Lakhoni’s hair was dark brown, like Father’s had been. Hapchas had lighter brown fur, and it was much shorter than Lakhoni’s, which was long enough that it sometimes got in Lakhoni’s eyes.

  A bark of laughter came from behind Lakhoni. “Ha! You checked!” Lamorun guffawed. “Hilana, did you see that? My gullible brother checked for forest rodent on his head.”

  Lakhoni tuned Lamorun out and kept walking. The group made good time, striking mostly north but also somewhat east. Simra and Lakhoni agreed that the big road they had both taken from Simra’s village to Zyronilxa was further to the east. They and the others had all agreed that it would be best to avoid the road, considering the composition of their group. None of them felt like drawing unnecessary attention.

>   They crossed a forest river that danced and flowed over roots and large rocks. The cold water felt good. Their feet cut through river moss as they climbed the bank, releasing a sharp aroma that reminded Lakhoni just how dry the rest of the forest was. Usually he could easily smell old leaves moldering under brush, but everything was dusty and cracking. The river moss smelled alive and bright.

  Loud barking broke out, not far off to the west. Lakhoni and Simra exchanged glances.

  “The dogs,” Balon shouted from right behind Lakhoni. “They must have found something.”

  “Go,” Simra said. “I’ll gather the others here.” She stopped and looked ahead. “No, wait. Looks like there’s a clearing not far ahead. We can make camp there.”

  Lakhoni led the way through the trees, Falon and Balon behind him. They were getting better at moving through the forest, but they still sounded like clumsy, drunk horses. Lakhoni didn’t wait for them and sped up, flowing through the forest as he had done all his life. His senses filled with the fresh, dry smell of leaves on hard dirt and the uneven shadows cast by the sun that was lowering on the horizon.

  The barking grew louder as Lakhoni approached. Ahead, the dogs danced and crouched. Feb and Gar stood shoulder to shoulder, barking and snarling, their tails waving low and tight—not in excitement but in nervousness. Lakhoni whistled then murmured soothingly as he approached, not wanting to startle them. They were intent on something on the ground that Lakhoni couldn’t see. He circled around, then called out firmly. “Feb. Gar. Come.”

  He and the brothers had been working with the dogs, training them. By now, the dogs reliably obeyed when their names were called. But they completely ignored Lakhoni’s summons. Lakhoni drew closer, keeping an eye out for danger. Finally he caught sight of what the dogs were so preoccupied with.

  It was a dead… something. Was it a hapcha? No, there was too much viscera that covered far too much area.

  Was it a boar?

  It could be, but Lakhoni couldn’t see a snout or tusks. Whatever it had been, something had brutally torn it open and completely shredded the inside.