Treysind dropped his own food to bounce excitedly. "Rilly? Ya thinks I's that good?"
Calistin had some actual experience to use as a comparison. Unlike Saviar, he had never dined at Bearn Castle, but he had eaten with King Tae as a child. "I think so. How?"
The words came out in such a rush, Treysind seemed to trip over them. "Well, I dint know. I mean, I's never had ac'shul meat ta work wit'. Least never more'n a scrap a somethin' I cou'n't figure out what it's used ta be. Just taked whatever I could from trash or streets or whatever. So's I never knowed how good…"Treysind paused, clearly trying to focus. "So's once't I's figgered out how ta use this thing." He gestured at the bow. "I's tryed ta figger out how ta make-"
"Whoa!" Calistin had to stop the flow of words. "You just figured out how to use it? You mean, just since you took that particular bow?"
Treysind bobbed his head repeatedly. "Never gots one bafore. So's I's started workin' on how ta make 'em smell good cookin', ya know, see if I's kin 'tract ya. I's tryin' lotsa flowers, plants…"
Still a sentence behind, Calistin stopped Treysind again. "You were trying to attract… me?"
"Course. I'd losted ya. An' I knowed Renshai ain't great food makers, so's I thought-"
Shocked silent, Calistin let Treysind continue without interruption while he considered the meaning of what he had just heard. The boy was clearly resourceful, and a lot more clever than Calistin would ever have given him credit for.
"-if I's could learn, I could bring ya ta me, since I weren't havin' much luck findin' ya, least not since that town where ya killed that man…"
"So, basically…" Calistin spoke slowly. "… you taught yourself to accurately shoot game with a bow, cook it, and spice it, as a way to find… me?"
Treysind cocked his head, clearly not understanding the point of the question. "Worked, dint it?"
"It did," Calistin had to admit. "And what a clever, simple little plan. Teach yourself to become a first-rate hunter and a topnotch epicure just to find someone who…" Originally intending to insert "didn't want you to find him," Calistin decided it might sound too offensive. He had ditched Treysind on purpose, and not for the first time; but speaking the words might gravely affront at a time when he preferred to understand. "… just to find someone."
"Ya's wort' findin', Hero. Whatever it tooked."
Calistin understood his appeal to Renshai and other adults who might envy or hope to benefit from his prowess. The boy's motives, however, confounded him. "You mean, because I can protect you?"
The look Treysind gave Calistin was fierce, and he took a snapping bite at his food. "Not 'cause a that." He chewed as he spoke. " 'Cause ya needs me ta 'tect ya."
Calistin laughed before he could stop himself, great humiliating belly guffaws that left Treysind looking vexed and angry. The boy returned to eating, shoulders hunched over his meal.
Calistin turned his attention back to his own food. Usually, long pauses never bothered him, but this one did. The conversation was clearly over, at least until the next stop. And, though he could not explain it, he felt as if he had lost something important.
CHAPTER 31
You can search forever in an empty well, but you will never find diamonds.
They called themselves the Mages of Myrcide, and they descended upon Saviar like a tidal wave. At first, Subikahn hovered over them, clinging to Motfrabelonning's hilt. Soon, however, the flashes and flares of their auras became a distraction that sapped, rather than increased, his alertness. He had no choice but to trust Chymmerlee's tribe. Without her aid, he knew, Saviar would already be dead.
Chymmerlee took Subikahn's arm and led him from the chaos, and he found himself following in silent gratitude. For three days, they had traveled together, her magic buoying her end of Saviar's litter. Subikahn had exhausted himself with worry as well as effort. Yet, somehow, Saviar clung always to a life that seemed more like a lingering death.
Chymmerlee had finally brought them to a series of hidden caves at the edge of the Weathered Mountains. So well-hidden, in fact, that magic had to play a part in their concealment. The Myrcidians lived simply, it seemed, without frippery or finery to mar the homey simplicity of their interconnected lodgings. However, they looked reasonably fed, their clothing free from holes and patches. Windows opened onto the mountains, revealing their grandeur and beauty, yet, somehow, invisible from outside the caves. The mages did not suffer from a darkness that should plague any society so secreted.
Though he doubted he could escape through it, Subikahn still felt more comfortable next to a window overlooking the forests of the Westlands. Clouds partially swathed the sun, keeping the temperature comfortably cool, and a breeze blasted occasionally through the opening, carrying the aroma of flowers and summer greenery. For a concealed cave, it wholly lacked the stifling dusty, moldy odors he expected.
Chymmerlee delicately lowered herself into a wooden chair nearby. For the first time, Subikahn noticed she had a grace suitable for swordsmanship. "You should sit, too."
Subikahn shook his head and started staring through the window at the bobbing branches. "I prefer to stand, if you don't mind."
"As you wish." Apparently intrigued by Subikahn's attention to the outdoors, Chymmerlee leaned in her chair to look through the window also. "If anyone can save Saviar, they can."
Subikahn made a noncommittal noise. He had already trusted his brother to these strangers, these Mages of Myrcide. "And if they can't?"
It was a foolish question, with only one answer. "Then he will die. But at least we will have given him a chance no one else could."
Subikahn made another wordless noise. He had no right or reason to complain, only the knowledge that the Myrcidians could not fail. His own life ended the moment they did. Suicide would condemn him to Hel; at least, he would join his brother there. He could never enjoy the perfect rewards of Valhalla knowing he had damned Saviar never to experience them.
Chymmerlee took Subikahn's hand. Hers felt soft, comforting, so unlike Talamir's callused fingers. Her touch alone eased some of the pain. "How did Saviar get that wound?"
It was not the first time Chymmerlee had asked, not the first time Subikahn had dodged the question. "First," Subikahn said, "tell me about your people. They clearly aren't elves. So where does their magic come from, and why do they hide from the world?"
Chymmerlee hesitated, avoiding Subikahn's searching gaze, becoming sharply focused on the scene outside the window that even Subikahn, in his short time there, had memorized. Finally, she sighed. "You've trusted us with the most precious thing in your life. I suppose it's only fair we trust you as well."
Subikahn nodded encouragingly. He truly was interested, and he felt certain the long story would also distract her from wondering about Saviar's injury, perhaps for a few more days.
"The Mages of Myrcide did not always seek the shadows," Chymmerlee began. "Once, we were a powerful people. Some of the world loved and revered us, others feared our magic; but all knew us as a necessary part of society." She smiled sheepishly. "At least that's what I'm told. It was centuries past, long before my grandparents' births, that Myrcidians walked freely among the peoples of the West."
"And yet," Subikahn said softly, "you're not in the legends, not in the annals of history. I've never heard tell of the Mages of Myrcide."
"Though we went by that very name, even then. And if we've been scrubbed from history, it is only because of one group of people, the most savage to ever slaughter their way across our world."
The Fenris Wolf came to Subikahn's mind. The evil god, Loki. The hordes of Hel's dead who rose up for the Ragnarok that nearly ended the world. Yet, he was not surprised by her next words.