Sword by Amy Bai

irritation such a small sound could hold. He scowled and faced the road ahead, which stretched on endlessly under patches of treeshadow and the blistering blue arch of the sky.
    "They're closer," he said sullenly, earning himself another hiss.
    Orin's briny, moody winds were far behind them now and the rich fields of Syndimn province lay all around, shimmering under a heat haze. He missed the salt air and the fogs. He missed fish for breakfast, fish for lunch, and fish for dinner. He even missed Duchess Armelle, who had done what not one of the doddering theorists who claimed to be her court wizards had managed, and terrified him into taming his wayward Gift.
    She was a frightening lady, Armelle Orin. He understood his Gift no more than he did when he'd arrived, but he could at least play a tune without a flicker of magic now. He was going to miss her.
    He was going to miss her heir Ysmena more, though.
    Devin sighed, stopped himself from casting another glance backwards just to see if the dust cloud in their wake had grown any larger, and brought out the bone flute in his pocket.
    "Put it away, my lord," Hewet said, mournful as a foghorn and utterly unamused. "Now, please."
    "Surely even you prefer a little music to lighten a long journey, Hewet."
    That got him an actual glower. Hewet went back to contemplating the shadows ahead of them, or the sound of the Deepwash running in the distance, or the utter lack of birds in this part of Syndimn, or whatever it was that interested a man who could probably lift a whole horse by himself but instead chose to follow around irritable sons of generals, keeping them from trouble. For his part, Devin went back to contemplating the desultory flick of his horse's ears, but he kept the flute in his hand as a silent, petty protest.
    Hewet was Armelle's man, not one of his father's soldiers, who would have put up with his humors. He hadn't given his father time to send one of his own guards for an escort. He'd woken three days ago with an inexplicable need to be home , and only Armelle's ferocious scowls had stopped him from leaping ahorse that very moment, his boots half-laced and all his belongings trailing behind him like lost children.
    "There are six of them, they carry horse bows, and they appeared on our trail after we passed Savvys village, which is a known crossing point on the Western border," Hewet said, without sparing his charge another glance or even altering his tone to better match the grave nature of that statement. "They may be bandits, but they are more likely border guards from the other side, and here because you look like an opportunity, my lord. We can only hope they don't know what sort of opportunity."
    Devin stared at him, gone loose and clumsy in the saddle. After a long, frozen moment, he put the flute away. "What do we do?" he asked in a small voice, when it was clear Hewet would volunteer no more information.
    "Why, we keep riding, my lord. I am a hired guard and you a wealthy merchant's son, should we be asked, and we know nothing of Western affairs or border troubles."
    That seemed wildly optimistic. "And if we did?"
    "We'd still be outnumbered three to one, not counting the pair out by the bannerstone in the field, who are clearly prepared to drive us back to the road should we leave it."
    "Oh."
    He was going to think only good thoughts about Hewet from now on.
    The sound of hoofbeats came to him faintly, a leisurely, insolent pace, and Devin swallowed down a throat gone dry. "Will they... I mean, they wouldn't break the king's peace. Would they?"
    When he looked over, Hewet's expression was not reassuring.
    He sat a little straighter, feeling the skin on his back prickle with the knowledge of eyes and possibly arrows aimed at it, and hoped the man riding next to him had a plan. Surely a man who looked like this, and who could put up with the sniping he'd been doing the whole journey so far, had something in mind.
    "Should we leave the road?" Devin said