Renegade's Magic (The Soldier Son Trilogy #3)

Renegade's Magic (The Soldier Son Trilogy #3) Page 139

I was silent, insulted that he would even offer a trade for Epiny, Spink, Amzil, and the children’s lives. Trying to bribe me to accommodate his treason.

He felt my fury and shame rose in him. Shame is not a good emotion for a man to feel. It makes him angry as often as it makes him sorry. Soldier’s Boy was both. “I was only trying to make you see that I don’t intend you to have such pain. Yaril is my little sister, too, you know. I’d like to see our family prosper.”

“I will not found my family’s fortune on the blood of our own. And have you forgotten that Epiny is my cousin? Also our family, and as close as a sister to me. And Spink is like my brother. Or does not that matter?”

I felt him harden his heart. “I will do what I must do.”

“As will I,” I told him stubbornly.

Silence fell between us, but he did not try to banish me.

As the thin gray light of winter poked its fingers in through the small cracks round the shuttered windows, he rose. A wakeful feeder started to stir, but he made an impatient gesture at the woman and she lay back on her pallet, obedient as a hound. Soldier’s Boy could walk quietly for such a massive man. He found an immense wrap, large as a blanket, draped it around his shoulders, and went outside to meet the day.

There had been snow and wind in the night, but the storm seemed to have blown itself away and the day was warming. The snow would not last. A light breeze still stirred the higher branches of the trees outside Lisana’s lodge. Drops of water fell in sudden disturbed spatters when the wind gusted. In the distance, a crow cawed and another answered him.

To my gaze, the area outside the lodge had changed. Soldier’s Boy gave it no attention, but I disliked it mightily. The placid dignity of the forest was gone. Winter had visited. A thin crust of icy snow clung to the tops of the low-growing bushes and frosted the moss in the untrodden areas. It lay only where it had drifted down between the higher branches, making an uneven pattern on the forest floor, a negative template of the canopy overhead. But amid that loveliness, paths had been worn through the moss and ferns, and branches broken back to permit easy passage down the trail to the stream. To either side of Lisana’s lodge other less sturdy lodges had been built. The newer shelters looked raw amid the ancient forest. As always happens near human habitation, the litter of occupation was in evidence here. The smell of wood smoke and cooking was in the air. Soldier’s Boy walked a short distance to an offal pit behind the lodges, relieved himself, and then made his way to the stream. Overhead, a squirrel scolded and then another. He paused and looked up to see what was disturbing them.

Something landed in the higher branches of the trees. Something heavy, for it disturbed a lot of raindrops, and as they fell, they disturbed others below them, resulting in a cascade of droplets to the forest floor. Soldier’s Boy stared up, trying to make out what it was. With a sinking heart, I was sure I already knew.

“Orandula.” I spoke quietly in the back of his mind. “The old death god. The god of balances.”

He had craned back his neck to peer up into the treetops. I saw a brief flash of black and white plumage through the branches. Another shower of drops fell as whatever it was shifted position. Soldier’s Boy dodged the falling water.

“Why is the god of death also the god of balances?”

“I don’t know why he’s the god of anything,” I replied sourly. “Don’t talk to him.”

“I don’t intend to.”

The god dropped abruptly from the trees. Wings wide, he landed heavily near the stream bank. He waddled toward the moving water, only a bird, and dipped his head on his long snaky neck to drink. Soldier’s Boy turned and walked back toward Lisana’s lodge. My heart misgave me.

I was not quite to the door of the lodge when the summoning came. I don’t know what I had expected it to be. I didn’t think it would be what it was, a simple impulse to stand a few moments longer in the early light of a winter day. The wind stirred the trees, a bird called, and the loosened raindrops pattered down. In response, I stepped sideways, hopped, turned, and came back to the path. It felt wonderful.

I heard something else then, something that was and was not a part of the ordinary sounds of the forest. It was a deep, soft rhythm. I could not perceive the source of it, but I found myself stepping easily to its beat. As its tempo increased, so did my pleasure in it. I had forgotten what a joy it was to dance. Or perhaps I had never before felt the joy of dancing. It didn’t matter. Had I thought my body large and ungainly? A foolish notion. None of that mattered. There was a dance inside me, making itself known to me. It was a dance that was made for me, or perhaps I had been made for the dance. It was a dance that I wanted to dance forever, to the end of my life.