Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [129]
You could make the trip faster without me, Damien wanted to say. You could put on wings and make the coast in a day or two, and Shaitan in little more than that. But he didn’t voice that thought. The Hunter was aware of his own capacity, and he knew damned well that having Damien with him slowed him down. Yes, he could reach Shaitan in less than a week if he traveled alone, but clearly he preferred not to. He doesn’t want to face death alone, Damien mused. And, darkly: I don’t blame him.
It was Tarrant who determined their route, leading them away from the packed dirt of the narrow road into the grassy lands beside it. There weren’t many caves in this area, he explained. They would have to swing farther east to where the mountains started to rise, to increase their odds of finding shelter when dawn came. What went unsaid was an eloquent reminder of what their relationship had become. Tarrant himself could find shelter alone along any stretch of earth, using his fae-sight to locate an underground passage and his sorcery to facilitate entrance. What would complicate this search was that he meant to keep Damien with him. And that was the first time in all their travels together that the Hunter had voluntarily chosen to share a shelter with anyone.
He’s afraid, Damien mused, as a third moon rose to shed light on their journey. Hell, I’d be, too, in his shoes. Any sane man would be.
As for being in Damien Vryce’s shoes ... he tried not to think about that.
Near dawn they reined up at last, and Damien dismounted with a sigh that was half relief and half pain. Ten months at sea had weakened his leg muscles enough that he could feel every mile of this trip. If the Hunter felt any similar discomfort, as usual he didn’t show it. In silence they led the horses to the place where Tarrant had Located shelter, and after a brief bout with a shovel and a wrestling match with several heavy rocks, Damien managed to break into the underground space. It was dry at least, which was more than he could say for some of the other places Tarrant had led him to.
“I’ll stay up here with the horses,” he said, nodding toward the camping supplies in his saddlebag. “They should be able to graze, which’ll help stretch our supplies. I’ll keep them close to home.”
And then came the question he didn’t want to ask. The answer he didn’t want to know. He drew in a deep breath and forced the words out one by one, trying to make them sound casual. “I guess you’ll need to ... tonight or in the morning....”
“Feed myself?”
He muttered something unintelligable.
In answer Tarrant unbuckled one of his saddlebags and drew out a large canteen. “As you see, I came prepared.” He uncapped the container and took a long drink from it; something about the weight or the way he handled it made Damien certain it wasn’t water. “No more nightmares, Vryce. Not this time. You need your strength as much as I need mine, and in the face of Calesta’s power ... there should be enough nightmares to go around soon enough, for both of us.” He took another short swallow, then capped the canteen once again. “I can make it on this until we reach the coast. After that ...” He shrugged.
Don’t think about it, Damien warned himself, as the Hunter shouldered his supplies and slipped down into the darkness of his subterranean shelter. The misery that this world will suffer if Calesta succeeds in his plans is a thousand times worse than anything the Hunter could devise.
He wished he could be sure of that. He wished he were sure of anything.
Twenty-eight days left.
What will happen to the Church’s troops if they do make it through? Damien had asked Tarrant. If your creations let them pass and they reach the keep. What then?
Then their fate will be in Amoril’s hands, he responded. And as for what Amoril is capable of . . . He shook his head grimly. The Forest is still mine, and will be until my