Page 27 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘Got him,’ he declared, leading the horse towards them. It was a beautiful black thoroughbred, with kind, golden eyes; a fitting match for the young warrior.
‘Took you long enough,’ Malik snorted.
‘Please,’ Wilder scoffed. ‘Torj told me it tookyoutwo days.’
Malik nearly choked on his liquor. ‘That pretty boy has barely wet his blade. What would he know?’
Wilder shrugged. ‘Enough, apparently.’
Talemir observed this exchange with amusement. He loved watching the siblings of Thezmarr interact, for no matter how old they were, they always reverted to their childhood habits.
‘Settled on a name?’ Talemir prompted the youth.
Wilder looked relieved. ‘I was thinking —’
‘Biscuit,’ Malik declared, his face deadly serious.
Wilder blinked at his brother. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘We had to entertain ourselves somehow.’ Malik grinned. ‘But your stallion seems to like the name.’
‘It makes no sense,’ Wilder argued.
‘Does too. His eyes are the colour of that gold shortbread Cook makes.’
Talemir’s shoulders shook with laughter. ‘Biscuit…’
To both the older warriors’ delight, the horse seemed to warm to the name, whinnying softly.
Wilder ran a hand through his hair. ‘Furies save me.’
Talemirand his protégé now stalked deeper into the forest, each holding an arrow nocked to their bow.
In the wake of Drue’s questions, Talemir considered the young Warsword hunting beside him. He moved with predatory grace. His form was flawless, which was just as well, as Talemir had been the one to teach him. He was a few years off reaching the peak of his potential, though; he was still so raw. There was no doubt in Talemir’s mind that Wilder was a good Warsword, an even better man, but the grief over what had happened to his brother had changed him, had ignited a near unquenchable thirst for vengeance. That was why Talemir hadn’t confided in Wilder about what he was, what he’d become. He had spoken the truth to Drue in their tent: he truly feared that if Wilder discovered what he was, the young Warsword would try to kill him, and there would be no coming back from that.
Talemir loosed his arrow. It shot through the air with keen precision, spearing a hare beneath the brush clean through the eye.
‘Couldn’t let me have that one?’ Wilder quipped, his own bow drawn.
‘Let you?’ Talemir scoffed. ‘Beat me to it like a real man next time, apprentice.’
‘I’m not your —’
Talemir nocked and loosed another arrow, adding a second hare to his tally. ‘Perhaps if you weren’t so busy complaining, you’d have more success.’
‘Perhaps if you weren’t scaring all the game away with your chattering…’ Wilder released an arrow, missing his target by a hair’s breadth.
‘Unlucky,apprentice,’ Talemir goaded.
Wilder’s answering curse was enough to make Talemir chuckle, chasing his darker thoughts away. For the moment.
Despite the gloomof the surrounding kingdom, the Naarvian company was in high spirits as the sun ascended, thanks to the roast hare they’d shared for breakfast. Perhaps Talemir had underestimated just how rare the fresh game was on the road in these parts. In the end, he and Wilder had brought several back to camp, skinning them expertly before roasting them atop the fire.
Spotting Drue strapping her saddlebags to her horse, her hawk braced on her shoulder, Talemir approached her cautiously. His hand still bore the laceration from the bird’s cold welcome in the mess hall.
‘Thought your feathered friend might want something to eat…’ He offered her a slab of meat wrapped in a scrap of cloth. He had considered giving it to the bird directly, but didn’t trust that he’d leave the encounter with all his fingers intact.
Drue took the offering from him slowly. ‘Thank you,’ she said, seeming unsure of herself.
