Then Hair-On-End stepped in front of her, saying, “Don’t.”
Half Pint stopped so suddenly he rocked back on his heels. The shyin cocked its head thoughtfully, then reached out with one finger and touched his chest. Half Pint collapsed like an empty suit of clothing, and it was obvious before he hit the ground that he was dead. Havec stopped running, chest heaving. Hair-On-End turned around while the rest of them were gaping at him and patted Qanath on the head.
Havec glanced at Smooth Guy, thinking that he hadn’t given the man the credit he deserved; Qanath had tried to tell him and he hadn’t understood. Anyone who carried something that dangerous around in their pocket was a person with considerable self-restraint.
Into the stunned silence, his father said, “Now that those savages are out of the way! Come, boy, bring your friends over here and introduce them to me.”
“Dad,” he said sadly, turning to face his parents, “what are you doing? Tabbaqera is the greatest power in the world bar none. They don’t let piss-ant countries like ours massacre their citizens and walk.”
“Paw,” his father said breezily, “but we have sorcery they can’t match. Those giants gave them what-for, eh?”
He gestured around him. “Did I not just kill all the most powerful hedge-witches, the ones who were in on this scheme?”
“More can be trained.”
“Dad, if you wanted war, why not go hassle Tweel like we always do?”
“I mean to,” his father said reasonably. “Of course. I just want to let those arrogant bastards know they should keep away. Why should they get to be the only empire in this world?”
Havec stared at him, at a loss. He had imagined death gave people a sense of perspective, but his recent experiences were telling him that, on the contrary, death stripped the soul of what common sense it possessed. The Empire had already kept away because no one gave a shit. Now they’d served notice upon her that Moritia was willing and able to kill her citizens, that would change. With terrifying rapidity.
His eyes flicked onto his mother, and she raised her chin as she met his gaze. It was the look of one resigned, determined to wear a proud face as she met her fate: she understood this was going to fail. Whether she had made contingencies accordingly, that he could not tell. Havec looked at them both, feeling helpless and wondering what a son did in these circumstances.
It was Qanath who came to him, laying a hand on his elbow as gently as one might cup the broken wing of a bird. “If we take her,” she nodded to his mother, “we could still get there in time.”
He couldn’t tear his eyes off his parents but turned his head toward her.
“If you give them an authority figure to hold accountable for the massacre,” she persisted, “I’m sure my people wouldn’t insist on punishing yours for the folly of their leaders.”
“Siva Qanath is right,” Farait interjected. “They will show restraint, if for no other reason than that you are the one asking for mercy. The people in question are yours.”
Speaking mostly to himself, Havec murmured, “Then I can turn this place over to my uncle and go home.”
“Jonet is a weakling,” his father said forcefully. “If he were capable of guiding our people into the future, I would be resting peacefully in my grave.”
“She thinks I’m a weakling,” Havec reminded him, nodding at the man’s wife. “I’m beginning to realize it’s nonsense not to root for my own team.” Spinning a finger in the air to indicate that they should get moving, he turned away.
Farait sheathed his sword and made for Havec’s mother, who made no attempt to flee. Smooth Guy, however, hesitated. “And him?”
Havec laughed, although he wasn’t entertained. “What better fate than to sit here eternally, thundering his significance to the echoes in a cave?”
The Adventure Almost Comes to an End
They made their way out of the cave with his mother, leaving his father shouting at their backs to come back and help him and be good. Havec wasn’t clear whether his father had convinced himself the country needed him or just been unwilling to let go. If the former, he had gone about securing their future in the worst conceivable manner. He felt bad about his cousin suddenly, although he had accidentally saved the man from a far worse fate. He had never heard that a soul might be grafted onto a body belonging to someone else, but if it was possible, it would be gruesome. The displaced soul must be damaged by it.
It came as a surprise to find Moida and Hib still waiting with the horses, alive and well. He had forgotten about them, but there they were grinning, Moida showing off her dentures and Hib too shy to meet their eyes. Another angry bellow echoed out of the mouth of the cave and their smiles faltered as they peered into the fog. It occurred to Havec to wonder what spooky rumors would attach themselves to this place. It was already thought to be an entrance to the underworld and now it was home to a raging voice.
Maybe in time someone would scrape together the courage to investigate, and then they would learn the truth. Havec couldn’t see what was to be done about it. Even had he known how to kill someone who was already dead, he would never bring himself to. Whatever else his father may have been, he’d always loved his son.
It took them a while to find the other party’s horses, because his mother refused to speak. She just kept her chin at a regal angle and looked all of them very intensely in the eyes. Maybe she was attempting to make the point that she wasn’t afraid, but Havec felt like she was still trying to force him into submission by sheer force of will. It made him want to strike her, so he left her in the others’ care.
This deep in the mountains, there wasn’t much risk that they would encounter other people, and they let the exhaustion take them as they rode away. Only maybe an hour after they quit the cave, the sun broke through the clouds. Its warmth was welcome, but the glare off the snow was unpleasant and Havec found himself wishing Qanath had more of those goofy hats to pass around.
At one point, the girl urged her horse forward clumsily. He thought to give her lessons, then wondered with a prescient pang of loss if he would get the chance. “It seemed like he couldn’t move,” she said quietly. “Maybe none of this was his doing.”
Havec shook his head. “His body hadn’t decomposed, did you notice? I was kidnapped the day of the funeral, that very night. The second they put him in the ground, they dug him right back up. I don’t know why it took six years, but the idea wasn’t new.”
Even more softly, she asked, “Do you think he knew?”
“About me? He knew my mother removed me from Moritia, and I think she did it with his consent. But I don’t think he knew she had me abducted violently and he definitely didn’t know she had me sold into, well, that.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He glanced at her. “Don’t be. It’s not that big a deal. I mean, inasmuch as your dead dad turning up a revenant and starting a war can be.”
She watched him, not responding, and the set of her shoulders was tense. He shrugged for her benefit and forced his mouth to smile. “Come on, girl, who cares? All this really did is give me permission to go my own way.”
She let out a gusty sigh, sagging into herself. “You haven’t changed your mind, then. About staying here and taking the throne.”
Havec was so startled he drew his mount up short. Patting the fellow apologetically on the neck, he urged him back into motion. “No,” he told Qanath forcefully. “Why would I ever? My uncle Jonet is still around, and now I come to think about it critically, I’m not sure there was ever anything wrong with him aside from the fact that he didn’t get along with my dad.”
He chose not to say but thought to himself that, if he remained in Moritia, he wouldn’t do it as himself. Tabbaqera was where he felt at home. In Moritia, there would be no Hot Priest for him; they would want him to marry a girl and sire heirs. They would make him wash his makeup off and grow a bread. Erl had been impressed by his martial talent, but also seemed to consider it effete. Once he’d hung up his swords, what was left?
Only Kebbal, which was terrible and powerful, and wanted for him not to be sad.
The choice was easy, frankly, and his parents had done him a favor by exiling him. It gave him all the license he would ever need to justify a decision that might have looked selfish in other citcumstances. If he had a duty to these people, they should have taught him how to perform; instead, they had sent him abroad, where he made a new home.
Qanath accepted what he’d said and fell back to ride beside her sullen swain. Havec would never like Smooth Guy but decided he ought to make an effort to be nicer to him for her sake. And for the sake of his creepy thing: it had saved the day. It had been at the girl’s side when Havec couldn’t get there in time.
