Into the Shadows by Linda K Hopkins
Chapter 24
Lark stayed far away from the Shadow Warrior when they set up camp that night, and when she lay down, her mind was a tumult. He watched her closely, his tongue tasting the air, reading her emotions, and she focused her thoughts on the darkest and angriest.
When she woke the next morning, he handed her a piece of bread and a strip of dried meat. She frowned, wondering where it came from, but kept the question to herself. He no longer wore the skin of a Shadow Warrior, but that did not lessen her feelings of anger and betrayal.
“Let’s go,” he said, once she had finished her ablutions. “You’ll ride.”
“Ride?” she said in surprise.
He nodded between the trees, and tethered to a branch she saw a horse which she had not noticed before.
“It was your suggestion,” he said. “We will cover more ground.”
“But exercise is good for me.” The last thing she wanted was to cover the ground more quickly, and she cursed herself for speaking so foolishly. She needed time to find a way to kill him and escape before he dragged her to the dragon’s lair.
“There will be time to exercise when we continue your training.”
“Where did you find him?” she finally asked.
“It belonged to the fallen Guardsman. I returned to retrieve it while you slept.”
“You left me alone?”
“I was back in less than an hour. It would have been quicker, but the horse couldn’t keep up.”
She lifted an eyebrow disbelievingly but remained silent. She headed over to the horse and using a fallen log as a step, pulled herself into the saddle.
Any doubts she may have harbored about his ability to keep up with the horse were quickly put to rest as he ran ahead of her. His stride was effortless, and watching him, she had no doubt that he could go much faster if he chose. Except for a brief stop to water the animal, they kept going until mid-afternoon, when the Drameara came to a stop near a stream.
“We will stay the night here,” he announced. “Rub down the horse and set him grazing. We’ll continue your training when you’re done.”
Frowning in annoyance at his orders, she did as commanded. As soon as she finished, he pointed out a small pile of rocks.
“Pick them up and carry them over to that tree over there.”
She looked at him dubiously. “You want me to carry rocks?”
“There is more to fighting than knowing how to hold a knife. You also need to build your strength.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“That’s up to you, princess. But what will you do next time you’re accosted by some Guardsmen?”
“Fine,” she grumbled, picking up the smallest rock in the pile and carrying it over to the tree. By the time she had moved half of the stack, her arms were trembling, and her heart felt like it would burst. She glared at the Drameara, who watched her impassively.
“I can’t carry anymore,” she panted.
“No, you can’t.” His voice carried a tone of derision.
“What does that mean?”
“You are limiting yourself, princess. You can only do what you decide you’re capable of. Set the bar low, and your results will likewise be low.”
“You think my bar is too low?” She glanced at the half dozen rocks she had carried. “You’ve forgotten what it is to be normal.”
“I was carrying rocks far heavier long before I started drinking the Ancient’s blood.”
“When was that?”
“Pick up that rock and I’ll tell you.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course not.” He turned away as she looked at the boulder. He was baiting her, and the wisest course of action would be to refuse the challenge, but his words had struck a nerve, and she wanted to prove him wrong. Squatting close to the ground, she maneuvered her fingers beneath the rock and rose to her feet, stumbling as she all but threw the stone at the tree. She glanced at the Drameara, who was watching her with his arms crossed.
“I was ten.”
“Why did you do it?”
“That’s more than I agreed to tell you.”
“Very well. I’m not that interested, anyway.”
“For a Cambrian princess, you’re very easily ruffled.”
“And as you are well aware, I am not a princess,” she snapped.
“Getting under your skin, am I?”
“Like a plague sore that must be expunged!”
He snorted, although she could not tell if it was in amusement or annoyance. He gestured to his weapons, laid out on the ground. “Tonight, you’ll find us our meal.”
She frowned. “How am I to do that?”
“The same way I do. You hunt.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then you’ll go hungry.”
“Why?”
“Learning to defend yourself also means learning to fend for yourself. If you manage to kill me, as you are so eager to do, how will you survive?”
“You know that you will go hungry, as well?”
“I can survive for days without food, princess. Weeks, even.”
“You eat every night,” she pointed out.
“Only because you need to eat. Only a fool would not eat when a meal is available. Now choose a tool and go and find your dinner.”
With a scowl of annoyance, she snatched up the bow and a few arrows and stalked away. It was all very well for him, she thought – he drank blood to keep himself alive. She paused in her striding, one foot still in the air, then slowly resumed her steps. The Drameara had said he would die without blood. It was not necessary to kill him; all she had to do was dispose of the blood in the jar. She smiled as she stepped through the trees.
Lark did not eat that night. The next night she foraged for some berries, but they did not fill her belly. By the third night, she was faint with hunger. She slipped off the horse and stumbled to the ground. “Please,” she said, “I need to eat.”
“Have you caught something?”
She had not, although it was not from a lack of trying. Her numerous attempts to shoot one of the many ground birds with the bow and arrow had not met with success.
“You know perfectly well that I haven’t,” she snapped.
“Come.” He hauled her to her feet by the arm. “Hunting is not just about your aim. You need to use your brain, as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a much simpler way for you to catch your supper.”
She frowned. “Are you going to make me guess?”
He sighed. “Set a trap, princess.”
She stared at him. “You couldn’t have told me this sooner?”
“You should have figured it out sooner.” She looked away. Of course she should have; how could she have been so dull?
That night she had roasted partridge for supper, and it tasted better than anything she ever remembered eating. Her attempts to find food had put a stop to her other training, but it resumed that night. The Drameara had her use a tree trunk as target practice for a quarterstaff – a long, thick staff that she hit against the tree, spinning on the ball of her foot to hit from one side, then the other – before practicing her aim with a bow and arrow.
The next few days passed in much the same way. She rode for the first part of the day, following the Drameara as he ran ahead, while the later afternoons and evenings were spent in training – at least, what he considered training. He showed her ways to bring a man to the ground with her legs, and various ways to maim and kill her enemy. He taught her how to watch and evaluate a person’s weaknesses. When they passed through a town, he took her to fights and made her watch and learn, then repeat the moves when they stopped in the evenings. When they weren’t training, she went to great lengths to keep the distance between them, even as she knew that each mile brought her closer to the dragon’s lair. Even so, there were moments in training when he stepped too close, and the air around them thickened until one of them broke the tension by stepping away. She was prepared to kill him to gain her own freedom, but she could not deny the attraction she felt for him – attraction she had never felt for the prince who had claimed her for marriage.
Four days after the run-in with the Guard, they crossed a wide but shallow stream. She looked at it in amazement when the Drameara informed her that it was the Cambria River. By the time it reached Lenora, it was a mighty waterway, wide and deep enough for ships to sail upstream from the coast, but now it hardly seemed deep enough for anything bigger than a child’s toy.
There had been no opportunity to steal the jar of blood – she was seldom left alone, and when she was, it was for no longer than a minute or two. When almost a week had passed, as they made camp one evening, he declared that he would do the hunting that night. The tension had been thick between them the whole day, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he disappeared between the trees.
He’d handed her his tinder box, but as she began to search for some kindling, her gaze landed on his bag. Her heart racing, she quickly opened it and took out the clay jar. Removing the stopper, she brought it to her nose, grimacing at the smell, before pouring the contents on the ground and replacing the jar in the bag. The smell of blood lingered in the air, and she hurriedly continued her search for kindling, placing it over the blood which had seeped into the ground. Her hands trembled as she struggled to create a spark, until finally she was able to set the small pile smoldering. Dropping to her knees, she blew the flame into life, then fell back in fright when the fire crackled violently and a flame rose high into the air. It was bright orange, and she watched as it took the shape of a dragon then dissipated into nothing. Her heart was pounding as she searched for some more sticks to place on the fire, and she turned with a start as the sound of crackling leaves announced the return of the Drameara. He looked at her closely, his gaze narrowing slightly, then held up a rabbit as she smiled weakly.
Her nerves were taut all evening as she waited for the Drameara to discover what she had done, but he made no move for his bag. Her chest was tight when she lay down to sleep, and it was only after the Drameara lay down that she was able to relax enough to get some rest.
She awoke with a start the following morning; she was alone, but this did nothing to relieve the anxiety that clenched her stomach. She rose and went to saddle the horse, whom she had named Blackie, on account of his black coat. She was as tightly wound as a coil when she heard the Drameara return.
“Let’s get going,” he said, not waiting as he set off at an easy run.
She pulled herself into the saddle and, taking the reins, started after him. It was still early morning, and in the distance, the mountains glowed orange and pink. Each day they grew closer, no longer shadows in the distance but well-defined peaks and summits. Somewhere in those mountains lurked the Ancient, waiting for her. It was a meeting Lark hoped desperately to avoid. She dug her heels into Blackie’s side, urging him to a canter as the Drameara increased the distance between them.