Kared's Children - Chapter 13

They had memories, but the memories didn’t help them know even how old they were. They only had each other for that, and they measured their ages by the things they had done and the experiences they’d shared. Raven, for instance, remembered the time Piskin had fallen off the roof of the jail and broken both his arms on the fence that surrounded the building-which also, fortunately, had broken his fall. His small body had bounced to the street, where he’d lain unmoving. Raven had carried Piskin all the way to Paurleson’s home, his brother’s arms flapping loosely the whole way. The grocer had taken one look at those crooked arms and led the boys immediately to the Taroc Guard, whose Captain, some anonymous man, probably long dead, had set Piskin’s arms and then demanded that the two stay in the infirmary until Piskin was well. The Captain had ordered the nurses to admit Raven, too, claiming starvation or paucity or something similar that Raven didn’t know. But the two had sat in bed for weeks, side by side, and they’d eaten better than they ever had or would again until they’d meet Dox.

Piskin remembered Raven differently: an older brother who would beat on him mercilessly and taunt him into all kinds of ridiculous schemes. He didn’t remember the jail story exactly-though he remembered the hospital. But he had no doubts Raven had been the one who’d talked him into climbing onto that rooftop in the first place, for whatever reason an older brother would’ve had.

He also remembered nights, when they were sleeping on the streets, that Raven would cover him with whatever rags or parchments they could find for warmth. He remembered Raven’s giving him first choice of any food they could forage from the barrels behind Paurleson’s or behind inns like Roethke’s. And, despite all their escapades, all the years, they never had been apart for any extended period.

But they would be now.

Piskin felt it coming; he scraped the whetstone along his stiletto silently and waited for Raven to speak.

His brother did. "You know what it means, to escort someone."

"I’ve done it before."

"Not like this."

"No."

They watched their friends near the fire for a moment.

Raven ran one finger along the crossbow string. "You have to do it right."

"Don’t trust anyone," they both said.

Raven glanced sideways at his brother. His fingers rubbed the string.

"Karec’s a good man," Piskin said.

"We’ve known him a long time."

"I’ll treat him as though we have."

Raven understood what he meant. "We’ve been letting a lot of people in."

"I like the wizard."

"Mage," they both corrected.

"He probably knows wizards," Piskin said.

"You don’t even know what a wizard is," Raven said.

"Neither do you."

"I expect Benjamin does."

"He’ll be worth it," Piskin said. "You can tell."

"I know."

Neither had to say what the "it" was: they both knew.

"Who would have thought," Piskin said.

"Not Narth."

They both laughed.

Piskin’s thumb pressed gingerly against his stiletto’s edge. "I’ll always be there, Rav."

"I know. So will I."

Piskin slipped the whetstone into its pouch on the stiletto’s sheath. "Most important, you’ll have that mage."

"And you’ll have Shaerden."