It grew dark. He ran on, pushing through patches of bamboo and across open meadows. Was he going the right way? What if . . .
There!
He found the vents tucked up against the side of a rockfall beside a hill. These ones were slim, and didn’t give off much heat—certainly less than he’d hoped. Still, the cracks seemed deep, and the scent of sulfur was strong.
He dropped the metal disc down the one that seemed the deepest, then turned and ran back the way he’d come. A half hour later, puffing—wheezing—he reached the camp, though he’d had to call out to TEL to find it. The sky was nearly pitch black.
Siris ducked under the damp blanket stretched between stands of bamboo. He knelt beside the firepit, pushing the ring farther onto his finger. He held out his hand, palm forward, trying to summon the heat.
He felt nothing at first. Then, with relief, he felt a faint warmth around his finger. The ring made a clicking sound, then buzzed.
A blast of flame erupted from his palm. Its coming was so sudden, he almost jerked back. The fire blazed forward and covered the entire firepit. Steam hissed, wood popped. Siris had to turn his face away.
With focus, he took the heat down from an inferno to a careful bake; better to dry the wood than turn everything in the camp to ash. The heat continued for a good count of a hundred before the ring buzzed, its energy expended.
Siris lowered his hand and looked at what he’d done. The wood was singed, and some of it smoldered, flames growing. He nurtured these, and in minutes he had a satisfying fire. He positioned Isa beside it with the blanket over her back, her head resting on some wadded-up clothing.
Finally, Siris sat back against the rocks, rain falling lightly on his head. There wasn’t room under the blanket for him, with the fire and Isa. He exhaled softly.
“Where did you did find a source of such heat?” TEL asked. The golem sat in the rain as well.
“Some cracks in the ground,” Siris said. “Isa said they were common in this area.”
“Ah . . .” TEL said. “Yes, yes. Very clever. Hopefully you didn’t melt the transmittance disc by tossing it into lava! But I suppose those can be replaced.”
Siris wrapped his cloak around himself, the one Isa had given him on that first day. “You’ll now tell me everything you know about . . . what was it you said? The Patterns of True Swordsmanship?”
“They are of ancient date,” TEL said. “The most accomplished art of a warrior, a unity between sword and body. Some Deathless claim it took them centuries of practice to master them. Mortals aren’t supposed to be able to grasp them in their short lifetimes.”
For some reason, Siris felt colder.
“They are intended,” TEL continued, “to be used in fighting multiple opponents of inferior skill. The Deathless developed them so that one of them could stand against many; indeed, they are next to useless in a formal two-combatant duel. One could argue that the formal duel rose out of so many Deathless being accomplished at the True Patterns.”
“So how do I know them?” Siris asked.
“I cannot answer that.”
Siris was quiet for a time, listening the rain beat softly against the leaves. “I’m a descendant of one of the Deathless, aren’t I?”
TEL gave no reply.
“I can use their machinery. That’s what Isa meant—she can’t use the rings because her soul, her Q.I.P., doesn’t connect her to the Deathless. Mine does. I can do things I shouldn’t be able to because of my lineage. That’s why the God King was hunting us, because of our heritage.”
Again, TEL gave no reply.
“Can you answer any questions on this topic?” Siris asked.
“No,” TEL said. “I am forbidden.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I won’t hold myself accountable, just because one of my ancestors might have been a monster. I’m probably part of some illegitimate line.”
Maybe the God King’s own line, he thought with a shiver. Wouldn’t that be appropriate? Him killing his own children to make his blasted sword work?
The rain eventually let up. Siris checked on Isa, then on her coat, which he’d hung on the other side of the fire to dry, and to keep the rain from blowing in on her. The rain had soaked one side, so he switched it around.
When he turned back, she was looking at him. He started, nearly dropping the coat. She blinked, then grimaced, glancing down at her side. TEL had tied a bandage there, which she prodded at.
“You should be resting,” Siris said.
“I am resting,” she said. “This is hardly bleeding at all. That shouldn’t be possible.”
“TEL does fine work,” he said, nodding toward the golem, who sat in the rain, looking up at the stars. He hadn’t changed positions in two hours.
“I guess he does.” She sounded skeptical.
“You thirsty?”
“Yes,” she said. “Horribly so. But first, I . . .”
“Yes?”
There was something to her voice. Something soft, something intimate. “First, I’ve really got to pee.”
He blushed. “Oh, right.”
He fetched a pot for her, then went off into the bamboo to give her privacy. When he came back, she was dressed and sitting up by the fire, warming her hands.
He sat down across from her.
“I’m hoping I don’t need the rope treatment tonight,” she said.
“No,” he said. “You came to help when I was fighting in the river, even though you were unarmed. You could have let those creatures kill me, then stolen the blade from them.”
“Steal from a pack of wild slaughter daerils?” she said. “Easier to get it from you.”
He snorted. “I doubt they knew what it was worth, and you’re sly enough. When they went to sleep, you’d have had that sword and been on your way in under a span.”
“You have quite the opinion of my skills.”
“It’s out of regard for my own,” he said. “You almost killed me twice. I’d hate to assume someone incompetent could manage that.”
She smiled.
“The fact remains,” he said, “that you didn’t have to rush in to help me. You did. Saving my life negates an attempt on it, so you’re forgiven. That is, assuming I can get a promise from you. No more trying to kill me, all right?”
“All right.”
“And you won’t try to steal the blade while I’m sleeping?”
“I won’t,” she said. “Or even while you’re awake.” She paused. “But if you die and I can’t do anything to prevent that, I’m still taking the sword.”
“Fair enough. Better you than one of the Deathless.” He held out his hand beside the fire, toward her.
She paused, then shook it.
“Get some sleep,” he said, rising to go fetch some more wood.
“You too, whiskers,” she said with a yawn. “We’re less than a day’s hike from Saydhi’s estate. You’ll need your strength tomorrow. Be sure to get some sleep.”
“I will,” he said.
He proceeded to stay up the entire night making sure the fire kept going and she remained warm.
Chapter Seven
“The real secret to good cooking . . .” Isa said, lifting the spoon to her lips.
“Is . . . ?” Siris asked, sitting across the fire from her.
She took a sip.
“Well?” he said.
She licked her lips, held up a finger, then tossed in another pinch of spices.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he said.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said. “The secret is patience.”
“Huh. I just failed that one, didn’t I?”
“As soundly as if you’d brought a salad fork to a jousting match.” She smiled.
“Pshaw,” he said. “Jousting would require riding one of those things.” He eyed her horse, munching on some foliage on the other side of their camp. A few days back, they’d carefully moved to a location that was more secure. They hadn’t spoken of
the fact that Siris continued to stay in camp with Isa, as opposed to going to fight Saydhi’s champions.
He would go eventually. He hadn’t lost his resolve. However, if he failed, it would mean his life—and he wanted to make sure Isa was well enough to reclaim the Infinity Blade if things went poorly. Besides, he wanted to attempt a few things on his list, like cooking. So far, he was confident that one was going to move to the list of things he did not enjoy.
“They’re not so bad,” she said. “Horses, I mean. You just have to know how to treat them.”
“The same could be said of a persistent rash,” he said, “You know, I considered—for just a moment—using the disc on him.”
“Nams?” she said with a start. “You were going to draw the heat from my horse to start a fire?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d have killed you.” She said it frankly, though she blushed. “We’ve been through a lot together, Nams and I. More than you and I have, whiskers.”
“Well, TEL indicated he didn’t have enough heat in him for it to work. Makes sense to me. I’m pretty sure he has a heart made of iron, blood as cold as a mountain snow.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I saw him eat a baby once,” Siris added. “And not even one of the loud, crying types. A sweet giggling one. Pure evil, I tell you.”
She shook her head, sipping the soup. “You’re insulated.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“No?” she said. “Not a word in your silly language?”
“It’s a word,” he said. “But it doesn’t mean what you think it does.”