Badgerblood: Awakening Read online

  “Send me to an early grave, that lad,” he said. “But I’ll have his hide for it first.” He left the cellar, blowing out lanterns as he went. Back at the hut, Peter hung the cloaks on the wall, closed the windows, and built up the fire. He stopped suddenly and straightened. “What if he’s shifted?” He glanced down at Spart, who had curled up before the flames, then shook his head to dismiss the thought.

  Peter dished up stew and sat on his bed. The fire roared pleasantly away on his right. He shoveled stew into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. More spicer venom preservative was mixed into the meal. It extended the stew’s longevity and gave it a warm, meaty tang. Peter usually savored the taste. Tonight, he barely noticed it as he stared across at Kor’s empty bed.

  “Even if he does shift,” he said, rambling between mouthfuls, “I won’t be able to train him.” Spart twitched his ears at the words and cracked open an eye. “But then, at least, I could be certain. I’d feel better taking him north if I really knew.” Peter tapped his spoon against his lips and eyed Spart. Over the years, he’d held many a one-sided conversation with the badger. They helped him think. “In the end, I probably won’t have to make a decision about it,” he said. “Kor will likely kill himself off with his imbecilic recklessness before then—like he’s probably doing today.” He slapped his spoon in his bowl, and slammed it on the bed. “Curse the lad.”

  He leaned forward, massaging his eyes. Kor was usually back by nightfall. Only a few of his delays had ever led to disaster. Most of the time Kor could take care of himself. Most of the time. A soft snore came from Spart. Peter peered out between his fingers at the sleeping badger, grunted, then nodded curtly.

  “You’re right,” he said, tugging off his boots and crawling under the fur blankets. He was too chilly and tired to bother stripping further. “It’s foolishness. I’m worrying over nothing. Kor is fine—just a stubborn young man, wandering the forest at night. Blasted idiot,” he muttered, pulling the blankets up to his beard and letting his eyes droop shut. “He’ll be back by morning.”

  11

  Allinor’s eyes fluttered open. Something sharp jabbed her in the ribs. She rolled onto her back, trying to remember where she was. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out straw thatching and a wooden beam in the ceiling overhead. Everything from the day before came back to her—the borlan, Kor, Eliker, his daughter. Allinor had spent the night at the miller’s sleeping head to foot with Serah on a low bed in the room behind the sheet-door. The sharp point that had been sticking her in the ribs was likely a broken slat under the straw mattress.

  She sat up, shivering, and brushed her stockinged feet across the floor until they found her boots. Then she slid off the mattress into them. In a heap to one side lay her tattered cloak. She flicked it around her shoulders, huddling underneath as she tied the drawstring cords under her chin. She hadn’t bothered to completely undress before bed. It had been cold, and she had wanted to slip away quickly upon waking without having to fumble around in the dark getting dressed.

  Before helping Kor from the tavern to the mill the night before, she had retrieved his knife for him. Now it lay on the floor with her dagger. She tucked them both into her belt.

  Quietly, she crept across the dirt-packed floor toward the sheet-door. Her waterskin and pack were still in the main room by the table. A chair scraped over the dirt beyond the sheet-door and she stopped. Voices carried through the sheet to her. She glanced at the bed, but couldn’t tell for certain if Serah was still in it.

  So much for sneaking out, she thought.

  The miller and his daughter had not asked many questions of her. She had hoped to sneak away before that changed. Generally speaking, when people here found out who she was, their attitude changed from warm and friendly to frigid and fearful. On more than one trip up to Perabon, she had even encountered hostility among the villagers.

  Wrapping the cloak tighter, she peeked out of the sheet-door. Eliker was awake at the table, eating bread and dried meat. Serah set a steaming mug before him and sat down opposite.

  “A charmer if ever I saw one. Reminds me of Mama,” she said wistfully, leaning her chin on one hand. She rubbed her thumb against the grain of the table, then glanced at Kor. “Do you think he knows?”

  Shaking his head, Eliker reached for the pouch lying open on the table. He sprinkled a pinch of herbs from it into his mug. “I doubt she realizes it herself. Your mother didn’t, for a long time.” A melancholy silence ensued as he swirled the contents of his mug with a finger.

  Curiosity stirred in Allinor and she nearly gave in to the temptation to listen longer. But eavesdropping was not a very ladylike quality. Her mother had drilled that into her. Not that she’d listened. Still, she forced herself to step out from behind the sheet-door. Her gaze flicked to Kor’s sleeping form in the corner. “Will he be alright?”

  Serah jumped and Eliker’s finger froze mid-swirl. Then, as quickly as he had stopped, the miller began swirling his drink again.

  “Len,” he said carefully, greeting her with a nod. “You’re up early.” He eyed her briefly, then looked at Kor’s sleeping form. “He’ll heal. Usually does. Never seen a man with quite his knack for healing…or endurance.” For a moment he seemed lost in thought, then he shook himself. Tearing a chunk of bread from the loaf on the table, he held it out to Allinor. “Don’t tell him I said that.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “He’s foolhardy enough as it is.”

  Allinor smiled and took the bread. Serah stood, offering Allinor her seat, but Allinor shook her head. “I should go.”

  Eliker lifted a pack and waterskin from the floor. “I put a little food in your pack. It’s not much, but it should keep the hunger at bay.”

  Allinor took the bags and rummaged anxiously through her pack. The book-shaped, vellum parcel was still right where she had left it and her gloves lay under a small leather envelope of food. She slipped them on and found her ring inside. Relief washed over her and she felt a pang of guilt for her suspicious thoughts. After all Eliker and Serah had done, she rewarded them by thinking ill. The encounter with Tib—and Kor, she admitted to herself—had tainted her.

  “Thank you,” she said, opening the leather envelope to look at the food.

  The miller grunted in response, and got to his feet.

  As she followed him to the door, Allinor shouldered her waterskin and pack under her cloak. “Thank you, again,” she said, lifting her chin and extending her hand. “Your hospitality will not be forgotten.”

  Eliker cocked his head and she realized how authoritative she had sounded.

  Force of habit, she thought, grinning to cover it up and stretching her hand out farther. He eyed it a moment longer before finally clasping her arm to shake.

  As they released, Allinor’s hand went to the knife in her belt—Kor’s knife. Originally, her intention had been to leave it on the table and slip out, but Eliker and Serah were awake now. She drew it, turning the leather-wrapped hilt so it faced Eliker.

  “Kor dropped this in the tavern.” The miller took the hilt, but she carefully gripped her end of the stone blade more tightly. He looked at her. “Tell him goodbye and thank you,” she said, glancing at Kor, then meeting Eliker’s gaze.

  The miller nodded and she released the knife. Before she could open the door, however, Eliker rested his hand on it.

  “Headed south?” he asked casually, tucking the dagger in his belt with his free hand.

  Allinor stiffened, wondering where the question was headed, and shook her head. “North.”

  “Ah, a merchant or trader then?”

  Allinor glanced at the door. Eliker’s hand hadn’t moved. “Apprentice, actually,” she said nervously. “To a healer.”

  “Mmm. But you are from the south.” He grinned at her silence. “You’ve got a bit of a lilt. Tilldoran, by the sound of it. I didn’t notice it last night with all that was happening.”

  Allinor blinked in surprise and drew back slightly. The day before, she
had tried to keep her accent under guard, but after the borlan and Kor, she must have slipped back into it unawares.

  “My wife was Tilldoran,” Eliker explained. “Does us good to have the lilt back in our home. She was a charmer, too, you know.” He eyed her meaningfully.

  Allinor smiled, but glanced away, a little uncomfortable with the attention. “I’m sure she was.”

  There was a brief silence, then Eliker drew a quick breath. “Right.” He unbolted the door. “Follow the path left—that will take you north and out of the village.” Allinor nodded. “And do us a favor, lass—don’t mention Kor’s name to anyone. He’s well-liked among most villagers; the king, however, is an entirely different matter.”

  “Kor saved my life,” she said, pulling up her hood. “The least I can do is keep quiet. And if anyone asks”—she grinned broadly—“I’ll just charm my way out of answering.” She laughed at her little joke.

  Eliker half smiled as he opened the door and Allinor stepped out into the chilly, pre-dawn morning.

  “You’ve got a mother?” he asked from behind.

  She glanced back. “Yes.”

  “Ask her what it means to be a charmer.”

  12

  By the time Allinor stopped to rest, the village was a speck in the distance. The sun hovered just above the eastern horizon as though trying to decide whether to get up or snuggle back under cover of night.

  “I’m not much of a morning person, either,” Allinor sympathized, yawning as she stepped off the path and sat against a tree. Settling onto the cold, damp ground as comfortably as she could, she pulled the vellum parcel from her pack and unbuckled the strap holding it closed. The vellum fell open like a book, revealing a stack of loose painted sketches inside. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her and flipped through the drawings. They depicted a variety of flowers, each accompanied by its own tangible dried sample.

  Allinor took the star of Perabon sketch and the crumpled flower from her pouch, and placed them carefully between the last drawing in the book and the back cover. After admiring them a moment, she turned her gaze to the name engraved on the inside of the back cover: Holden Roose. He had always etched his name in the backs of books, instead of the front. She rubbed her finger over the letters.

  “I found it, Father—your last flower. I finished your collection.”

  She took a star of Perabon petal from her pouch and put it in her mouth. The flower had not given her nightmares, as Kor claimed it had done for him. She chewed and closed her eyes as she recalled a cherished memory of her father: the first time he had shown her his sketchbook. With the ring, sketchbook, and dagger all on her—each one an item that had once belonged to her father—and the petal in her mouth, the memory popped vividly into her mind. She could hear the echo of his gentle, deep baritone, almost feel his arm around her shoulders.

  The flowers remind me of you, Len—see? Only the most charming for my best charmer.

  Shocked at the emotional intensity and real-ness of the memory, her eyes flew open and she clapped the vellum shut. She couldn’t tell if the last sentence was truly her father’s, or a carryover from the miller.

  Sniffling, she wiped away a tear with the heel of her palm and buckled the sketchbook closed. The book was the reason she had gone back to the tavern. And it was the reason she had entered the forest in the first place. Rather, keeping the memory of her father alive had compelled her to such actions. She ached all over, missing him.

  Since her father died, she had been trying to finish his collection of dried flowers. It helped her feel close to him. He had started out simply drawing the flowers he’d seen in books or on his trips. Then one day he brought home one of the flowers he’d drawn and presented it to Allinor’s mother. Delighted by the gesture, she’d had the flower dried to preserve it and kept it in his book with the appropriate sketch. This became a tradition. Allinor’s father would bring home a sample flower of a sketch, Allinor and her mother would dry it and put it in his sketchbook.

  The tradition died with her father, until Allinor took it upon herself to continue. Now the collection was complete. The star of Perabon had proved the hardest, most dangerous flower to find. She thought of Kor and wondered if it had been worth it. Her impulsive nature, her curse, had nearly gotten them both killed.

  Cod the charm, she thought, with a melodramatic sigh. I’ve none of that.

  She started down the path again, snacking on the dried meat, bread, and wheat kernels Eliker had supplied. The countryside around her was a vast contrast to the gently rolling hills of her own country. Here, the land stretched flat on either side. It was spotted with boulders and trees. Wild grass was marked by clumps of lemon-petaled dandyweeds with burgundy stalks. It was beautiful in its own right.

  A frigid blast of wind blew back her hood, flipping her hair around her face. She pulled the hood up and held it in place. Most Perabon soldiers recognized her by her hair or eyes. There weren’t many auburn-haired, amber-eyed girls in Perabon. Even in Tilldor amber eyes were rare.

  That morning, the path had been mostly void of travelers, except for the small group of mercenary-soldiers who’d come galloping toward the village just after she had left. They hadn’t seen her, thankfully, but their appearance had filled her with anxiety.

  Allinor bit her lip, wondering again if her ruse had been discovered and trying to reassure herself that it hadn’t. It was a good plan—the day before, she had pretended to be sick so her mother would tour Perabon’s salt ponds without her. Once the travel group had left, taking most of her mother’s entourage with it, Allinor had snuck away with the help of two friends who were covering for her. Her mother wasn’t supposed to be back at Perabon castle until the next afternoon. But if she had returned earlier and discovered Allinor missing…

  Allinor groaned at the thought. She sensed that a search for her could cause trouble for Kor and his friends. So she had kept a fast pace ever since seeing the mercenaries, stopping only once to rest and look through the sketchbook. The sooner she returned, the sooner any searches could be called off.

  The next troop of soldiers was nearly upon her when she finally registered the cloud of dust. She scurried from the path and crawled into a bush, hoping her cloak would camouflage her in the pale greens, oranges, and reds of the leaves.

  Most of the soldiers that passed were on foot, but a few rode horses. Allinor’s feet ached in envy at the sight. Hoping to learn why the men had been sent, she cocked her head and strained to catch snippets of conversation. At first there was only the monotonous clomping of boots and hooves, coupled with the droning marching call that kept pace among them— “Lift up, step down, lift up, step down. Right—right—right—right.”

  It was the most boring chant Allinor had ever heard. And she soon found herself chanting along with it. She pressed her lips together to stop herself and concentrated on listening. As the end of the column came into view, the chanting subsided and she overheard one soldier complaining to another.

  “—doing overtime for the little pain. Why didn’t they send the tinplates? I worked a late shift last night and they called me back on duty after three hours’ sleep. Three hours.”

  “Tired, soldier?” A silky tenor voice cut in before the comrade could respond.

  Allinor thought she recognized it. But to be certain, she dropped her head to try and see the man’s face through the bush. A tall, lanky man, astride an impatient bay, came into view. The horse side-stepped beside the soldiers, tossing its head several times before finally settling down with a snort. Because of his elevated position, Allinor could not see the man’s face. She could, however, see the pear-shaped grumbler. With his right fist over his heart, he stood frozen in a nervous salute. The column of soldiers flowed around him.

  “N-no, Commander. Sir,” he stammered in reply.

  “Come now, soldier. We’re all tired.” The commander’s voice was calm and soothing, unnervingly so. “Remember that next time your tongue feels weary.”
/>   “Y-yes, sir.”

  “The day will be over soon enough. Once we have the renegade in custody, you can sleep all you like. Until duty calls again, of course.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The commander dismissed the man and he bounded away to rejoin the others, sword, sash-belt, and belly flapping. Allinor pressed the side of her head to the ground harder, trying to see the commander’s face again. Leaves rustled with the movement. She nearly stopped breathing as he turned toward the noise and his face came into full view. Allinor’s eyes riveted on him. She didn’t dare move, or even blink as he urged his horse closer.

  She knew the man. The sharp, angular features and the pale scar under his left eye were unmistakable—Martt Veen, commander of the Perabon army, right-hand man to Perabon’s king. If he was with the soldiers, maybe they were looking for her.

  Please, don’t see me, she thought in desperation. Her mother could be so overprotective at times, it was stifling. If Allinor was found here instead of at Perabon castle, where she should have been recovering from her fabricated illness, she would be surrounded by guards for the rest of her life, and she’d probably never be allowed another trip outside Tilldor again. It had taken all her powers of reasoning and pleading to convince her mother to leave her at the castle with only one aide. Pleeaase—don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me… She repeated the plea over and over in her head.

  Martt drew closer, then stopped suddenly. After a final sweeping gaze of the area around Allinor, he spurred his horse to the front of the line of soldiers. Allinor sighed and dropped her forehead to the ground in relief.

  When the dust had cleared and the soldiers were no longer in sight, she crept from the bushes. She walked faster now, jogging in intervals, keeping a sharp eye out for travelers until the castle finally came into view. The traffic at the front gate was no busier than it had been the day before. Maybe the soldiers weren’t looking for me, after all, she thought, pulling her hood down farther to conceal her hair and eyes.