The Lost Ones (The Veil #3)

The Lost Ones (The Veil #3) Page 4

“If you’d stayed behind, you’d have been killed, or Ty’Lis would have you in his dungeon, too,” Coyote reminded her.

Kitsune lifted her book and began to read again—or at least make a show of it.

“Is that why you’re hiding here?”

The fox woman ignored him.

Coyote stood up and brushed off the seat of his pants.

“Wayland Smith visited Virginia Tsing today.”

Kitsune flinched, then looked at him over the top of the book. “Only Virginia Tsing?”

“So it seems. But if you wanted to make promises about the future of the Legend-Born, there’s no one better to talk to than that old woman. All of the faithful will listen to her.”

Jade eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, cousin?”

Coyote grinned. “Isn’t it obvious? Uncle has a plan to free the Bascombes. Your friend Oliver may survive this war, Legend-Born or not. I wonder if you’ll be happy to see him, should you come face-to-face. Even better, I wonder if he’ll be happy to see you.”

Kitsune set the book down and slowly rose to her feet. “You never know when to be quiet, do you?”

“Gets me in all sorts of trouble,” he agreed. “So, what now, cousin?”

Her anguish lay revealed for a moment, and then she composed herself, her expression turning grim.

“I don’t know. But if Oliver’s going to be free, then it’s time I freed myself as well. It’s time I did something to burn away my regrets. But we’ll stay away from him, cousin. It gnaws at me, but I don’t ever want to have to see my reflection in his eyes.”

Coyote nodded appreciatively. “The truth. It’s usually so unbecoming in a trickster, but it works for you.”

Kitsune strode toward him. “It’s our nature to be selfish. But this is too much. I’ve used your weakness to shield me, but the Atlanteans have slain too many of us, and they mean to murder the rest. They won’t stop until all the Borderkind are dead. It’s time to fight or die, Coyote.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? I was hoping to put it off for a while.”

“I’m sure. But we have another task before we can go to war.”

“And what’s that?”

“There are others like you, hiding, or simply trying to stay neutral. They’re fooling themselves, thinking the war isn’t theirs to fight. The time has come to disabuse them of that notion.”

Coyote sighed.

It had been a perfectly lovely, lazy day. Now Kitsune wanted him to play hero—a role never designed for a trickster.

“Shit,” Coyote said. “Couldn’t you have simmered in your self-loathing for a few more days?”

Kitsune smiled and slid a hand behind his head. She pulled him toward her and their foreheads touched.

“Good dog,” she said.

He cursed at her, and she laughed as she preceded him from the cave. Despite his pique, he was elated to hear that sound. Kitsune had been her own prisoner for too long. Now she would run free, and wild.

Wayland Smith walked between worlds. He had always done so and hoped that he always would. This was his power and his legend. The Borderkind thought him one of their kin, and he never argued the point, but he was not like them. They could walk in two worlds, while he could travel in many.

Yet over the ages, it had become more and more difficult for him to cross those borders. What the sorcerers had done in creating the Veil was unnatural, and it had begun to erode his ability to pass from one world to the other. This alone might not have alarmed him, but he feared that it would only be the beginning.

There were myriad other realities and worlds layered one upon the other—a great many of which he had yet to explore. If the magic used to create the Veil could wear away at his magic, he worried that he might one day find himself trapped in one of them, unable to journey beyond. Perhaps those unaware of the existence of the worlds beyond could be content with such restriction, but he was the Wayfarer, and it would be his death.

The Veil had become his bane, and long years ago, Smith had made up his mind to bring it down.

Now the Atlanteans and their damned ambitions were interfering. Whichever members of the High Council were behind the actions of Ty’Lis, they wanted to seal off the legendary world from the ordinary forever, to exterminate the Borderkind and destroy the Doors. Wayland Smith simply could not allow that.

Whatever it required, he had to see that King Hunyadi was victorious and that the Bascombes survived to fulfill their destiny. One of the Bascombes, he thought, correcting himself. Not that he wished harm to befall either one of them, but as long as one lived, his plans could still bear fruit. He had spent long years laying the foundations. He would not be thwarted now.

Smith strode along a mist-shrouded path, one of the Gray Corridors that wound in and out of the worlds, allowing him to move not only between parallel realities but between locations in a single world.

The Wayfarer paused. Mist clouded his vision. He raised his cane and, like a dowsing rod, it tugged him forward and to the left, and he could feel that he was close to his destination.

After a dozen steps, the mist cleared and he found himself standing in a copse of trees whose branches kept off the worst of the southern heat. The battalion led by Captain Beck was on the march, dust rising as they moved northward. For a moment he just watched them go past.

Then Smith emerged from the trees, the brim of his hat providing his only shade, and set off toward the troops. Soon, a small group of soldiers broke away from the battalion and started toward him. Several archers nocked arrows and drew back their bows, prepared to fire.

The Wayfarer kept moving.

One of the archers loosed an arrow—by dint of nerves rather than purpose, he surmised—and Smith knocked it from the air before it struck. A shout came from amongst the troops, and then he saw the tall, lithe form of Damia Beck emerge. She waved the defenders back into the ranks, then stood waiting as Smith approached.

A moment later, Blue Jay extricated himself from the marchers. One by one he was joined by others of his kin—first Li, the Guardian of Fire, and then the odd pairing of Cheval Bayard and Leicester Grindylow. Cheval wore her human face and shape, and her silken gown clung deliciously to her figure as the breeze caressed her.

Smith did not pick up his pace. The four Borderkind and Captain Beck waited patiently for him. He stopped perhaps eight feet away and let several moments pass as the rear flank of the battalion marched past.

“You’re ready, then?” Smith asked Blue Jay.

The trickster nodded, his features grim. The feathers in his hair twirled in the breeze.

“You’re certain this is necessary?” Captain Beck asked. “My battalion is marching to intercept an invasion force headed for the Oldwood. We need every advantage we have against the invaders, especially if the rumors are true and Ty’Lis is adding more Atlanteans to their ranks.”

Smith stroked his beard, studying her. “The enemy will find the Oldwood nearly impossible to take. As for the Atlanteans, you’ll find that in a few days whoever they’ve put in to rule as regent for the young prince Tzajin will announce an alliance with Atlantis. Then the flood of reinforcements will arrive and the real invasion will begin.”

“You’re sure of this?” Captain Beck asked, horror etched upon her features.

The Wayfarer cocked his head to one side. “I’ve just learned of it,” he lied. How else to explain that she and the other commanders ought to have seen the development coming themselves?

“Suffice it to say, Captain, that if Blue Jay and his companions are swift in their efforts, they may return when you will truly need them, having performed a service far greater than any they could provide in a single battle.”

Blue Jay shook his head, crossing his arms and staring at Smith. “Do you ever come right out and say something, or does it all have to be a fucking mystery?”

Smith smiled. “Espionage is usually best conducted in secret, don’t you think? Details now could cost your lives later, and the Bascombes’. And then, perhaps, cost John Hunyadi his kingdom.”

The trickster glanced at the other Borderkind he had recruited for their task. It was Cheval who met Smith’s gaze. Her silver hair seemed to glow almost white in the sun.

“We are at your service, monsieur.”

Smith nodded. “Excellent. We ought to depart, then. Good luck, Captain Beck.”

The old wanderer began to turn away, but then paused and looked back at Li. His legend called him the Guardian of Fire, but he had lost much of his control over the flames. Every inch of his skin had become black, burning embers. He had no hair, no clothes, no features at all to speak of save for his nose and mouth and the dark orange blazing pits where his eyes had once been.

“Not him, though. You others will blend in, but Li will be far too conspicuous.”

The grindylow stood up straight, speaking before Blue Jay or Cheval could summon the words.

“We’re mates, aye? That means we stick together, or we don’t go at all. You let us worry about keeping our secrets. We’ve done all right so far. The four of us, we left our friends behind in Palenque. Always figured we’d go back for ’em, and now the time’s come, so we’ll go. The four of us. You got that?”

The Wayfarer studied the water bogie more closely. “All right, young Master Grindylow. Just so you know it’s a problem you will have to solve.”

Blue Jay lifted his chin. “You’re not the only clever one, Smith. We’ll see to it.”

Smith nodded and took a final look at Li. The Guardian of Fire only stared back at him with those burning pits and said nothing.

“Say your good-byes, then,” the Wayfarer told them.

Cheval Bayard fixed him with a venomous stare, but said nothing. The grindylow stood close by. Li held himself apart. None of them had anyone whom they ought to bid farewell, but Blue Jay turned to Captain Beck and they exchanged smiles only lovers could share. Smith approved. He had spent generations persuading Borderkind that there was no sin in loving ordinary people. Of course, Damia Beck was the descendant of Lost Ones, and so even if they were to have children, their offspring would not be Legend-Born. Such children had to be the product of love between a Borderkind and a human from the other side of the Veil.

Still, it touched him to see the way they looked at one another. Wayland Smith had lived through eons almost entirely alone. Most of the time he felt as though he had nothing but callus where his heart ought to be. Once in a while, however, he felt a small twinge that reminded him that he still could feel.

“You know,” Captain Beck said to Blue Jay, “if you succeed, you might well hasten the end of the war.”

“One way or another,” he said, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

“In our favor, of course,” the captain said, ebony skin shining in the sun. Then she kissed him, letting her lips linger a moment, not caring that the others saw. Blue Jay returned her kiss tenderly, and when Damia stepped back from him, she was breathless.

“I wish you better luck than on your first journey to Palenque,” Captain Beck said, glancing around at the gathered Borderkind.

The grindylow snorted. “Well, we could hardly do worse.”

But Blue Jay and Captain Beck were not listening. Their fingers touched in a final lingering farewell, and then the trickster moved toward his kin and nodded to Smith.

“Let’s go.”

“Indeed. Swift through the Veil, and careful on the other side. The ordinary world has been too long without proper legends. We must do our best not to disturb them.”

“We’ve all been across before, old man,” Cheval Bayard sniffed. “We’re all Borderkind.”

With a nod, Smith reached into the fabric of the Veil. It took him a moment to grasp it—something that happened more often of late—but when he did, it was simple to draw the curtain aside, to open a path through the barrier for them all.

Li went through first, and quickly, as though he had wished for any reason to leave the legendary world behind. Cheval and Grin followed. Blue Jay spared one last glance at Captain Beck. She nodded gravely to him, and the trickster grinned. Then he stepped through.

Silently, as he too passed through the Veil, the Wayfarer wished the lovers whatever destiny they desired for themselves.

As long as it did not interfere with his own.

CHAPTER 3

The guards always opened the door to Julianna and Collette’s cell first. Every morning and evening, a quartet of guards arrived. When they had first been captured, a larger contingent had been in attendance, but soon the number had dwindled. Apparently, someone had decided that the threat they represented had been exaggerated.

All along, Collette had wanted to try for escape and Oliver had dissuaded her. Julianna had never quite understood his strategy, but now she realized that Oliver had been right. Since the reduction in the number of guards, they had never given their captors any reason to suspect that they would dare attempt an escape.

“They’re coming,” Collette whispered.

Julianna took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Collette dropped away from the door, letting Julianna take a look through the grate. As always, the two Yucatazcan guards came first, swarthy soldiers carrying trays of food. They were followed by a pair of Atlanteans. They wore the same uniforms as the Yucatazcans, but there was no mistaking the greenish-white cast of their skin.

The Atlanteans were armed with both sword and dagger. The first soldier came to the door and Julianna stepped back a bit as he braced the tray against his hip and fumbled with the keys. She glanced through the grate and across the hall, where she could see Oliver watching her from his own cell.

The key went into the lock and she could hear the clank of the tumblers. The door swung open half an inch.

“Back away!” the nearest of the two Atlanteans shouted, drawing his sword. “Away from the door!”