The Black Prism(19)

Don’t just sit there. Give me some rain!

“What’s the problem? What’s wrong with them?” the soldier demanded.

“They’re fighting dogs, sir, not trackers. I’m not even certain they’re on the drafter’s trail.”

Kip kept pushing upstream another hundred paces where the bend in the river straightened out and a tree had fallen down the bank into the water. It wouldn’t do anything for the scent trail, but it would hide the water he was dripping. He cut up the bank and then stopped. If he headed back downstream, he’d be going closer to the men hunting him. But the soldier’s mention of other trails had put a small desperate hope in Kip’s breast. Other trails meant maybe other fresh trails. And if it weren’t for the dogs, the cave would be the safest place to spend the night.

Swallowing so his heart didn’t jump out of his throat, Kip turned downstream, toward the cave. He thought he felt a cool prick on his skin. Rain? He looked up at the black clouds, but it must have been his imagination. He came to the spot overlooking the cave’s entrance.

Two soldiers were standing almost directly below him. Two others were on the opposite bank. There was one war dog on each side. Either dog’s head would have come up to Kip’s shoulder, easily. They both wore studded leather coats like horse armor without the saddle. Kip dropped to the ground.

“Sir, if I may?” one of the men said. Apparently getting permission, the soldier said, “The drafter came straight to the river, then veered sharply upstream before going into the water? He knows we’re following him. I think he doubled back and went downstream.”

“With us so close behind?” the commander asked.

“He must have heard the dogs.”

Which made Kip think of something else: dogs can smell scents on the wind too. Not just on the ground. Kip’s throat tightened. He hadn’t even thought about the wind. It was blowing from the southwest. His path had taken him east and then north when the river turned—the perfect direction. If he’d gone downstream, toward town, the dogs would have smelled him immediately. If the commander thought about it, he’d surely realize that too.

“Rain’s coming. We might only have one shot at this.” The commander paused. “Let’s make it fast.” He whistled and gestured for the men on the other side of the river to head downstream. They took off at a jog.

Kip’s heart started beating again. He slipped down the bank beside two great boulders. There was a narrow space between the two. It looked like it went in for about four paces and then stopped, but Kip knew that it turned sharply. He never would have discovered it the first time if it hadn’t been for the pungent, sickly sweet odor of haze floating out. Orholam knew how his mother had ever found it.

Now, even knowing it was there, Kip almost didn’t have the courage to push between those rocks. There was something wrong, though. It wasn’t as dark as it should be. It was fully night outside and Kip was blocking the entrance, so someone was already inside, and they had a lantern.

Kip froze again until he heard the sound of the war dogs change pitch. They’d found the rocks he’d thrown across the river. That meant it was only a matter of time until they discovered his fraud. The darkness and tightness were suffocating. He had to move, one way or the other.

He pushed around the corner and into the open space of the smuggler’s cave. There were two figures sitting in the wan light of a lantern: Sanson and Kip’s mother. Both were covered in blood.





Chapter 11





Kip couldn’t help but cry out. His mother was seated against the wall of the cave, her once-blue dress dyed black and red with blood dried and fresh. Lina’s dark hair was matted, darker than normal, stringy with blood. The right side of her face was pristine, perfect. All the blood was coming from the left side of her head, traveling down her hair like a wick, blooming on her dress. Sanson sat next to her, his eyes closed, head back, clothes almost as gory.

At Kip’s cry, his mother’s eyes fluttered. There was a huge dent in the side of her head. Orholam be merciful, her skull was shattered. She stared in his direction for several moments before she found him. Her eyes were a horror to behold, the pupil of her left eye was dilated, the right a tight pinprick. And the whites of both were completely bloodshot. “Kip,” she said. “Never thought I’d be so happy to see you.”

“Love you too, mother,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

“My fault,” she said. Her eyes fluttered and closed.

Kip’s heart seized. Was she dead? Before today, he’d never seen anyone die. Orholam, this was his mother! He looked at Sanson, who looked healthy, despite all the blood on his clothes. “I tried, Kip. The alcaldesa wouldn’t listen. I told her—”