“I am not like you!” Dain said sharply. “I do not—”
“Wouldn’t you like to increase your powers?” Sulein asked him. “Wouldn’t you like to know how to wield them exactly as you wish, to use them for—” “No!” Dain said. He hurried to the door, but it would not open. Frustrated, he tugged at it, twisting the ring this way and that, but it was locked. He gave the wooden panel a kick and turned back to face the physician. “When you learn to put aside your fear, when you learn to open your mind to what you truly are, then you will have a future of limitless possibilities,” Sulein said.
“I have no desire to be a sorcerel,” Dain said defiantly. “Let me go.”
“But you were so eager to come inside before.”
“That’s when I thought you might give back my bard crystal,” Dain retorted.
“Keeping my property from me is theft.”
Anger touched Sulein’s eyes, and the air inside the room grew suddenly cold. “I study, Dain,” he said after a long silence. “I guard. But I do not steal. Remember that.”
Dain stood there, mute and angry, his blood pounding impatiently in his veins.
Sulein’s words were all lies and trickery. Nothing he said could be trusted. Outside, the chapel bell began to ring, tolling the deaths solemnly while thunder continued to roll in the skies.
“I must go,” Dain said.
“One last thing, and then you may relieve Lord Odfrey’s mind. Come over to the light.”
Sulein walked away from Dain, leaving him to follow reluctantly. The physician bent over another piece of parchment, writing on it with a glass pen spun from myriad colors that shimmered in the candlelight.
Putting down his pen, he turned around and held up the parchment in front of Dain. “Read what this says.”
This time Dain found himself looking at runes, simple ones, written in the old style. New wariness entered him, for many times the old runes contained spells. “Well?” Sulein prompted.
“I can read this.”
“What does it say?”
Dain said nothing.
“What does it say?”
Dain felt a pressure to respond. Angrily he gestured at Sulein. “Stop that! It will not work on me.”
The pressure stopped, and Sulein frowned. “Your obstinance is most annoying. Why can you not cooperate even in such a simple matter as this?” “Because it’s not simple,” Dain said. “The old runes have power and spells in them. It—” He stopped in mid-sentence and frowned. A memory bobbed to the surface of his mind, and he sent Sulein a sharp look. “These are the runes carved on the band of the old ring in your strongbox. You want to know what they say, but I thought you could read—” “No,” Sulein responded with visible discomfort. “I speak dwarf. I cannot read their runes. At least not very well. What does this legend say?” “Where did you get the ring?” Dain asked. “What do you want with an old ring like that?”
“Never you mind. Just tell me what the runes say.”
Dain hesitated, tilting his head to one side. “You must give back my bard crystal.”
Sulein’s eyes grew angry. “You would have me defy Lord Odfrey?” “The spells you practice and seek to learn in here defy him every day,” Dain replied.
“I will not return the crystal to you,” Sulein said, lifting his chin. “Not until Lord Odfrey commands me to do so.”
“Then I won’t tell you what the ring says.”
Sulein glared at him a long while. Dain stared right back, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
In the end, it was Sulein who broke eye contact, “Very well,” he said. “You may have your king’s glass back.”
Dain held out his hand.
Sulein drew himself up with a huff. “Do you doubt my word? Translate the runes.”
Dain said nothing, just went on holding out his hand. Muttering in his beard, Sulein glided over to the strongbox and took it off the shelf. Dain hurried to him and received his pendant. Slipping it around his neck, Dain reached into the box before Sulein could close the lid and grabbed up the ring.
Holding it aloft, he read its inscription loudly, “Solder’s ring!” The stones in the walls of the tower shook slightly, and the ring’s great stone glowed with white light.
Sulein turned pale. “Mareesh have mercy!” he cried in horror. Grabbing the ring away from Dain, he threw it back into the box and slammed the lid shut. “Are you mad, invoking its powers like that? It is not to be touched, never to be touched without the greatest care and protection.”
Alarmed by the reaction to what he meant as a joke, Dain stared at the physician. “What, exactly, is it?”
Sulein looked shaken. Clutching the strongbox to his chest, he wiped his face with his sleeve. “It is,” he said slowly, “what I hoped it to be. A miracle brought to me by the gods and a peddler who sold it into my keeping for a piece of silver. The Ring of Solder,” he said, his voice filled with awe. Dain expected the walls to shake again, but all was now still. “I told you the old runes have spells in them. If I say it again, will the walls shake a second time?”
“Foolish boy, do not joke about things you do not understand,” Sulein admonished him sternly.
“So who is Solder?” Dain asked with curiosity. “Not a dwarf king. I’ve never heard of him.”
“Someday you will know the legend,” Sulein said. “If you do not already. You are a tangle of lies before me, but I will unravel all of them to find the truth of what you really are and what you really know.”
“I am not this missing king you’re looking for,” Dain said, hoping he wasn’t going to start that again. “Believe me, if I were him, I’d—” “Go away, Dain,” Sulein said, sounding tired. He waved his hand across the surface of the door, and it unlocked with an audible click. “I have much to consider. Now that I know this ring of legend truly exists, I must study its powers and safeguard it properly. It is not a toy to be played with.” Dain stepped around him, heading for his escape, but Sulein gripped him by the back of his wet tunic and held him back.
“Say nothing about the ring,” he said fiercely. “Not to Lord Odfrey, not to anyone. Swear this to me!”
Dain frowned at him with equal fierceness. “Then grant me one boon.”
“Must you barter over everything?”
Dain shrugged. “Blame it on my dwarf upbringing. I will keep silent, if you will part the veils of seeing. Show me who I really am. Show me my father and mother. Give me my past.”
He expected Sulein to jump on this. After all, the physician still wanted to name him King of Nether. But instead Sulein frowned and shook his head. “No,” he said portentously. “Not now. I have other things to study.” In a flash, Dain knew the truth. Fresh anger welled up inside him. “You do not know how,” he said, his voice rising in disbelief. “The first level of the sorcerer’s art, and you know it not. Are your minor spells just smoke and illusion? How can you reach past—” He stopped, aware that in his anger he was revealing too much knowledge of his own.
Sulein was watching him like a hawk.
Dain glared back at him, then wrenched open the door and strode out. As he went, he chastised himself for letting his temper and pride get the better of his good sense. Sulein had learned too much today. If not for the recovery of his bard crystal, Dain would have believed himself completely the loser of this battle of wills.
He tucked the pendant even farther beneath his wet tunic, patting his chest in comfort at having it back again. He felt stronger now, more confident against the dark forces beyond the walls of this hold. The crystal had no special powers, no magic other than how it made song. But it belonged to the side of nature unsullied by the Nonkind. If he fell into trouble, the crystal’s presence would help him keep a clear head. Besides, it was his talisman, his only legacy. It did not belong in a box, locked away in the darkness of a crazed man’s workroom, but here, singing softly against his flesh, a part of his spirit in some way he could not define.
The chapel doors were just swinging open to let out the mass-goers when Dain hurried across the courtyard and into the Hall. Skirting the public chambers, he went upstairs to change into dry clothes.
The chamber he shared with the other fosters was empty at the moment. Relieved, Dain flung open the lid of the clothes chest at the foot of his bed and found a new doublet folded neatly atop his meager possessions. Holding it up, Dain gave it a shake to release the folds, and thought the sleeves looked long enough this time. The cloth was sturdy and well woven, dyed a handsome dark red. It was an unexpected kindness, this gift. Dain did not know who was responsible for it. New clothes usually appeared mysteriously like this at Thirst Hold, just when his seams were bursting or his sleeves had shrunk halfway to his elbows. A lump closed his throat, and he crushed the doublet in his hands. He did not want to leave Thirst, he realized. He did not want people here to hate him. The door opened and the page named Hueh looked in. “Thod above, where is the lamp?” he asked in his piping voice, and hurried to light it. “You’re wanted by the chevard at once. He saw you in the courtyard, so you’d better hurry.” Dain nodded and stripped off his wet clothing. Clad in a dry pair of leggings, he went to the washing bucket to clean the mud off his hands. While he was still bent over it, the door opened and someone came in. “Well, well, so Bastard du Stray has come back,” Mierre said. “Why don’t you put your head in that bucket and drown yourself?”
Slinging water from his hands, Dain straightened and turned around to see the largest of the fosters standing there with his feet straddled and his thumbs hooked in his belt. Mierre’s green eyes were as unfriendly as ever. Beside him stood Kaltienne, like a sly weasel, eyes darting with malice. “Aye,” he said with a sneer. “You should have kept running. No one wants a traitor like you back.”
Dain frowned. “I am no traitor.”
Mierre stepped forward. “Mayhap we should drown you and put an end to the matter.”
Kaltienne laughed in an ugly way and started to circle around behind Dain. Quick as thought, Dain ran to his bunk and picked up his dagger. He faced them both, standing light and ready on the balls of his feet. The weapon glinted in the lamplight, and his would-be tormentors paused.
“If that’s the way you want this done,” Mierre said, and drew his own dagger.
Kaltienne said nothing, but he also drew his weapon. Dry-mouthed, Dain swallowed. He was outnumbered and boxed in by the beds. In the corner of the room, the young page watched openmouthed, of no help at all. Dain wanted to tell him to run for help, but thought doing so would be cowardly. He held his tongue.
Mierre came at him, thrusting hard and viciously with his blade. Dain dodged it, but Kaltienne was hemming him in on the other side, giving him scant room to maneuver. Dain jumped over the narrow bed, going behind Mierre, who turned with him.
Mierre tried to block Dain’s blow, but Dain’s dagger sliced his arm at the shoulder, ripping cloth. Blood welled up, and Mierre swore savagely. He attacked, and Dain skipped out of reach, only to have to dodge Kaltienne’s thrust. Watching their eyes instead of their blades, Dain could hear his breath whistling in his throat. His heart was pounding loud and furiously. But at the same time, he was curiously excited and hot. He saw the warning flicker in Mierre’s green eyes, but Dain leaped forward to meet the larger youth. Ducking under Mierre’s dagger thrust, Dain stabbed at him, only to be knocked back by Mierre’s free fist.
Staggering, his ears ringing lightly, Dain shook his head to clear it, and barely evaded Kaltienne’s clumsy lunge.
“Damne!” Mierre said. “Get him and let’s end this.”
Dain’s head was up. With shining eyes, he threw Mierre a wild grin. “Did you think I would stand still and let you gut me?”
“Demon!” Mierre lunged at him again, hitting Dain with his shoulder and driving him back against the wall.
Dain grunted at the impact, and just in time pulled up his dagger between them to block Mierre’s thrust at his belly.
“Heads up!” Kaltienne shouted in warning. “The prince!” Mierre straightened at once, backing away from Dain and turning to face the doorway.
Dain, breathing hard, his knees suddenly weak, glanced up and saw Prince Gavril standing there, gazing in at them. Gavril wore a doublet of pale blue linen, the cloth woven in a chevron pattern. His leggings were of the same pale color, and his shoes were of thin supple leather. On his golden hair, he wore an embroidered cap tilted at a rakish angle.
His violet-blue eyes swept the faces of everyone in the room, lingering on Dain a moment before going to Mierre.
“Fighting?” he asked with a lift of his brows. “Is this seemly behavior?” Mierre’s face turned red. “Your highness, it is only the pagan traitor. We want him not in here with us.”
“Naturally not,” Gavril said.
He smiled at Dain, and it was the coldest smile Dain had ever seen. He knew right then that Gavril would not help him.
The prince stepped into the room and turned his gaze on the wide-eyed face of the little page. “You,” he said to Hueh, “get out.”
Hueh fled without a word, not even glancing in Dain’s direction. Kaltienne had already sheathed his dagger, remembering the rule against drawn weapons in the presence of royalty. He bowed. “I beg your highness’s pardon. We just thought we’d teach the pagan a lesson.”
Gavril gestured at the door. “Close that, and then you may continue.” Dain stared at him, feeling his spirits sink. Three against one was not good, and he could not think of a way out of this. Gavril was gloating openly, his blue eyes clearly inviting Dain to plead for mercy.
Dain clamped his jaw shut. He wouldn’t do it, not even if they strung his entrails from one side of the room to the other. Kaltienne hastened to slam the door shut. Mierre grinned, and his green eyes narrowed on Dain. “You must always deliver lessons in private,” Gavril said. “Never in front of silly little pages.”
“Where’s your protector?” Dain called out, using bravado to mask his fear. “Why not make it four against one?”
They took no shame at his words. Gavril laughed and seated himself on a stool.
“Finish this quickly,” he said. “It’s almost time for dinner.” Mierre’s grin widened. He sprang at Dain, who ducked away with a nimbleness the larger youth couldn’t match. Mierre was very strong, but not agile. From the corner of his eye, Dain watched for Kaltienne, always sneaking to get at Dain’s back like the coward he was.
With Gavril clearly anticipating some good entertainment, Dain felt determined to best both of these bullies, if only to wipe the smug smiles off their faces. He would have preferred to attack Gavril and see blood splatter across that pretty pale doublet, but right now he had to concentrate on Mierre. Lunging at Kaltienne, Dain slashed viciously with his dagger in the way Sir Nynth had taught him. Moving his arm up and down in a blur of movement, he attacked with force, driving Kaltienne back until the boy stumbled into one of the beds and fell with a cry of fear.
Dain slashed at his exposed stomach and missed, for at the same moment Mierre gripped him by his shoulder and pulled him back. Dain twisted desperately to avoid being impaled on Mierre’s dagger. He felt the tip rake his ribs, bringing a swift burning of pain and the trickle of blood.
Cursing in the dwarf tongue, Dain ducked and spun, plunging his dagger up at Mierre’s vitals.
Mierre blocked the thrust with his blade, and for a moment the two weapons locked. They strained against each other until the tendons knotted in Mierre’s thick neck and Dain felt his muscles tremble with effort. Mierre bared his large, yellowed teeth. His green eyes, savage and merciless, glared down into Dain’s.
“Finish him! Finish him!” Kaltienne was shouting.
Dain felt himself giving beneath the other boy’s greater strength. With all his will and might, Dain struggled to hold firm. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. His back was bleeding, but the pain fired his determination all the more. He would not give way. He would not.
But Mierre kept pushing him down, and Dain felt his knees shaking and starting to buckle despite all he could do. Once he was forced to kneel, his throat would be level with Mierre’s blade, and too easy a target.
A week past, Mierre would not have dared kill him, for Dain was the favorite of the knights. But today, after the battle with the Nonkind, when everyone seemed to be blaming Dain somehow, he wondered if Mierre would even take punishment. Dain struggled to disengage his dagger, but Mierre had such pressure on his hand, twisting there, that the blades remained locked. Dain’s whole arm was shaking now from the strain. His knees failed him, and Mierre drove him down. “Now!” Kaltienne shouted.
Mierre twisted his wrist to unlock the dagger guards. Already Dain could feel how Mierre intended to draw his arm horizontally, slashing Dain’s throat in one clean stroke.
But as Mierre disengaged, Dain lunged at him and with his head butted Mierre right between his legs.
Mierre howled a shrill, piercing cry of pain. Dain overbalanced him, sending Mierre toppling to the floor.
Dain scrambled on top of him and pinned him while a white-faced Mierre, his knees drawn up, clutched himself.
Gripping the front of his tunic, Dain put the point of his dagger to Mierre’s throat and lifted his gaze to Gavril.
The prince had risen to his feet, and was staring at Dain with a mixture of fury and horror.
Behind Dain, Kaltienne was shouting, “Foul trickster! Honorless cheat!” Ignoring him, Dain kept his gaze on the prince. “Well?” he asked, breathing hard. “Is this the lesson you had in mind?”
Red spots burned on Gavril’s cheeks. Before he could reply, however, Kaltienne loosed a hoarse cry and launched himself at Dain’s back. Too late, Dain tried to turn to face his attack. Kaltienne’s dagger point skidded across his shoulder blade and gouged into the back of his arm. Pain blossomed there, and Dain’s cry was being engulfed by Kaltienne’s furious screaming, when suddenly the door slammed open as though it had been kicked and Sir Roye came rushing inside.
“What’s all this?” he demanded.
Gavril pointed at Dain and Kaltienne, who were locked in a struggle atop Mierre. “Stop them at once,” he commanded. “Sir Roye, I have ordered them repeatedly to stop, but they will not heed me.”
Swearing, Sir Roye gripped Kaltienne and heaved him away, sending him sprawling. His bloody dagger went clattering across the floor. Dain barely had time to drag in a short, gasping breath before Sir Roye yanked him upright. “Thod’s bones,” he swore, glaring at Dain as though this was somehow his fault.
“Are you bad hurt?”
Bleeding and rigid with agony, Dain could not find enough breath to answer. Sir Roye gave Mierre a nudge with his foot.
“You, get up,” he said without compassion.
Mierre rolled onto his side and groaned.
By now Kaltienne was floundering to his feet. Glaring, he pointed at Dain. “He’s a pagan cheat and traitor! He does not belong in here with us.” “Aye, that’s true enough,” Sir Roye muttered. He still had his hand on Dain’s uninjured arm, supporting him. His yellow eyes glared at them all, then he glanced over his shoulder at Hueh, who was peeping openmouthed into the room. “You!” he ordered. “Collect these daggers and take them out of here. Now!” “Yes, Sir Roye.” The boy scuttled into the room and picked up Mierre’s dagger where it lay on the floor, then Kaltienne’s. At last he came to Dain, who alone still clutched his weapon.
The page’s head came only to Dain’s waist. His face held the roundness of babyhood, despite his six or seven years. Brown curls framed his face. If he had fetched Sir Roye, then Dain knew he owed this child his life. Seeing Hueh’s fear, Dain managed a smile that was nearly a grimace and flipped his dagger over to hand it hilt-first to the child.
The page’s eyes brightened, and in that moment hero worship filled his face. He took Dain’s dagger and stepped back.
“Fighting in the presence of the prince,” Sir Roye was scolding them all. “You know better, all of you. It’s forbidden to draw weapons before him. Morde a day, you deserve more than flogging. Your highness,” he said gruffly, “where is Sir Los?”
Gavril shrugged. “I gave him leave for the evening. I thought myself safe enough in the Hall.”
“Apparently not,” Sir Roye said.
“We weren’t attacking him,” Dain said, but Sir Roye shook him so hard he cried out with pain.
“Silence! No one gave you leave to speak. Come on,” he said, pulling Dain toward the door. “Out with you. Mierre and Kaltienne, clean yourselves up. And get this room put back to rights.”
Not waiting for any of them to reply, Sir Roye jerked a stiff little bow in Gavril’s direction and marched Dain out.
As soon as they were in the corridor, Dain tried to explain, but Sir Roye refused to listen. In grim silence Dain was taken to the bathing chamber, deserted now except for two servants trying to mop up spilled water and gather up the towels someone had tossed about.
Sir Roye pushed Dain onto a stool. “Sit.”
When he began probing at Dain’s cuts, his fingers were far more gentle than his tone of voice.
“Shallow, most of it. Just one spot that’s deep. You’ll do,” he said with gruff relief. Tearing some strips off a towel, he bound Dain up efficiently. “Thank you,” Dain said.
Sir Roye glared at him, his dark weathered face as stern as ever. “I want you in good shape for the flogging that awaits you. Deserting the hold and Thod knows what else.”
Dain frowned, anxious to vindicate himself. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just went with Lander to buy sword metal.”
“Explain yourself to the chevard,” Sir Roye said without interest, tossing the bloody cloths into a heap on the floor. “I’m not your judge.” “Why won’t anyone believe me?” Dain asked. “I didn’t bring the Nonkind here—” “Who says you did?” Sir Roye asked sharply.
Dain hunched his shoulders. “Everyone.”
“Daft nonsense,” Sir Roye said. “The raids came from the south. That’s why Lunt Hold sent warnings. Their lands have been raided too.” Relief filled Dain. He smiled at the protector, glad at last to find someone who believed him.
Sir Roye scowled back. “Get yourself dressed and go to his lordship’s wardroom.”
“Yes, sir,” Dain said, still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”
Sir Roye refused to meet his gaze. “I do not want your thanks.”
“You saved my life.”
“The page did!” Sir Roye protested fiercely. “Running to me and bawling like a babe.”
“I must thank him too,” Dain said.
“You’ll report to the chevard, the way you were told to the moment you set foot in the hold. Thod’s bones, brawling before the prince. If he chooses to be offended, you’re in for it.”