Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) (15 page)

He was proven right. We reached the edge of the forest by midday.

The pirate ship was gone from the harbor. The port city spread out before us, its distinct red tower in the eastern quarter of the city proper, the white spire of their stone temple in the west. A multitude of peasant huts crowded outside the city’s wooden walls, horses and cows and sheep milling among the huts with the peasants. Servants and soldiers passed in and out the city gate. The slight wind carried the scent of wood smoke and animal waste toward us.

Ishaf.

I stopped for a moment, and the tiger paused by my side.

I had reached Ishaf. Without Batumar. The dark void inside my chest felt large enough to swallow the whole city.

The merchant and the children moved forward, toward food and warmth and relative safety. I followed them. I would save the children if I could, I resolved again.

Marga stayed at the edge of the woods. She gave a mournful roar behind me. I turned just in time to see her disappear in a flash of gold.

Thank you, great mother,
I called after her.
May the spirits keep you safe.

Then I caught up to the merchant, who said, “I wondered what would happen if she tried to come into the city with us. I am relieved that she likes the woods better.”

He sounded almost as if he cared for the tiger. Then again, in all that time we had been together, he had made no attempt to capture Marga, despite her trading value. I thought that odd for a merchant.

We followed wagon tracks to the city gate. The city guard did not question us but let us through. They must have seen their share of war refugees of late.

An oxcart rolled by us; narrow houses lined the road. To our right stood the City Gate Inn, a two-story building with a handsome thatched roof and green shutters. We stopped in front of it.

The merchant said something to the children in their strange tongue, and they ran off. He had probably sent them off begging.

To me, he said, “We meet here at nightfall,” then strode off to pursue his own affairs.

I looked around. Ishaf was a great deal different from Karamur. The port city was more crowded, dirtier. The streets lacked the orderliness of the High Lord’s seat—a city run by soldiers.

A rosy-cheeked woman came to the inn’s door. “Wantin’ a room, lovey?”

I had no coin. But I had an idea. “Greetings, mistress. Would you please tell me the way to the town healer?”

I had plenty of herbs to sell. I was beginning to look below the belt like a small hut with a thatched roof, the upper part of my body like a great chimney on top.

The innkeeper’s wife furrowed her forehead as if not quite understanding, but a moment later, her face cleared. “Ye’d be lookin’ fer Ina the herb woman, eh?”

I nodded with some hope. And the innkeeper’s wife sent me on my way.

I found the herb woman on the outskirts. She was in the back of her small lot, harvesting what little she could from her winter garden. She was at least four times my age, in a wide black skirt made of layer and layer of material. She looked like the wind-ruffled crows who followed the plow and bobbed for turned-up bugs.

“Grandmother,” I called out to her.

She peered up at me from her bent position, her face as crackled as the wall of her wattle-and-daub hut. Her fingers were knobby and gnarled, the small sickle in them halting over a bunch of thyme.

I had foraged all along our two-day walk through the woods, tying my herbs in large bunches to my belt. She looked them over.

“Ye a travelin’ healer?” She straightened as much as she could, which wasn’t all the way. “I am Ina.”

“Tera is my name. I come from Dahru.” I did not think I would need my disguise any longer.

She brightened at that. “Shahala?”

I nodded. “I was wondering if you might be able to use some of what I collected in the forest. My traveling companions and I are short of coin.”

She shuffled closer and fingered some of the green and silver bunches I was offering. “I ’ave nay much coin mineself. These days, people are poor. They pay fer mine services in trade.”

“I would trade for food, Grandmother,” I said quickly.

Food would be most welcome now that the tiger would not be hunting for us. She had cared for us as if we were her cubs. I hoped she would not come to harm in the forests of Ishaf.

Ina turned toward her thatch-roofed cottage and gestured me to follow her.

“How is it that Ishaf is still free?” I asked.

Her expression tightened, multiplying her wrinkles. “The Emperor wanted to conquer the mountain countries first, befer their harsh winter reached ’em. He succeeded fer the most part, but his wars there took longer than he expected. Now winter is here. He might wait until spring befer comin’ against us.” She sighed. “Maybe some sudden disease will take ’im, the spirits be willin’.”

I stared at her. No Shahala healer would ever speak those words. Ishafi herb women were a different breed, it seemed.

She had tea steeping over the embers of her kitchen fire. She pointed me to a chair, then filled a cup for me with the hot amber liquid.

I let the tea roll around my tongue. “Mersion pear, elne, penin grass. And sistan,” I added. “A very good tea for winter. It will ward off colds.”

She nodded with approval, then looked at my herbs again. “How much are ye sellin’?”

“Everything.”

“These old bones…” she said after a moment on a sigh. “I cannay walk as far as I used to. I can give ye bread and eggs fer these, and nay have to go into the forest mineself. Mine hens have slowed down fer winter, but they are still layin’.”

I thanked her most sincerely and asked if I could have the eggs boiled. She agreed readily to that. To repay her for her kindness, I helped her collect the eggs from pretty brown-black hens in a coop at the end of her garden.

“Tell me,” she said, holding the basket while I handed out the eggs. “Do ye know the Tika Shahala, Chalee?”

Tika Shahala was a title of great respect among my people, signifying the best healer among healers.

“Yes, I knew her. She has gone to the spirits,” I said, but did not betray that I was Chalee’s daughter.

I was a stranger in Ishaf. I did not yet know whom I could trust. There had been Shahala healers kidnapped for their healing skills.

The old woman clicked her tongue and bobbed her head from side to side. “A sad shame that. If half the stories ’bout her are true, there will never be another like her.”

After we took the eggs in, I offered to help in the garden. I yet had time before I had to be back at the inn.

“Are ye travelin’ with family, then?” the old woman asked.

“With a merchant and nine children,” I told her, and recounted our unfortunate voyage with the pirates, how we escaped with our very lives. I said nothing about Batumar or the true goal of our journey.

“Sailin’ with pirates.” She sighed. “I s’ppose it could nay be helped. The Gate is closed, I hear.”

“It is.”

“A shame fer the island people. Thank the spirits Ishaf is on the mainland. I cannay imagine to be stuck on an island, be cut off from the rest of the world ferever.”

I nodded, but in truth, I thought if the Gate somehow reopened, it would be even worse. Emperor Drakhar’s mercenaries would pour through then.

Inside, I helped her clean and bunch the herbs, hang them up to dry. I ground the seeds already collected and tied them up in pouches, marked them with their names.

When dusk fell, she boiled twenty-two eggs, two for each of us in our small traveling party, and gave me two loaves of round herb bread, much more than my work was worth. I gratefully accepted.

“Will ye come back on the morrow?” she wanted to know.

“I do not know, Grandmother.” I did not know what the merchant’s plans were.

She took my hand and peered into my eyes. “Ye have a shadow on yer heart, Granddaughter.”

Her tone of compassion undid something inside me. So I told her the truth about the merchant, and how the children were little beggars, and how I intended to trade myself for them.

“Foolishness.” She bobbed her head from side to side. “Ye cannot change the will of the spirits.”

“The spirits did not will those children to be maimed. The merchant did.”

“And ye would sell yerself to such a man?”

“I cannot go back to my home. And I have nothing here.”

“Ye could come and live with me,” she said after some thought. “I could use the help.”

But I was not even a healer anymore. My gift had deserted me. I shook my head.

“Dinnay let that shadow settle on yer heart overly long, Granddaughter,” she advised, true concern in her eyes. “A shadow like that can darken yer very spirit.” She made some kind of warding sign with her gnarled fingers.

“Mayhap saving the children will lift some of that shadow,” I offered, if only so she would not worry about me.

“Mayhap.” She tilted her head. “If ye manage yer trade, send the children to me. They can help in mine garden and with mine chickens. Mayhap one of ’em will have a feel fer herbs.” She sighed. “I cannay promise much. They might still have to beg. But I can offer shelter.”

The children going to a kind woman was more than I had dared hope. For the past few days, the light had gone out of my world. But here she was, suddenly, a bright spirit.

I would rather have the children in the warmth of Ina’s heart and hut than serving in a cold stone temple. I
would
save them. Yet I ached to do more, to save my people.

“I am but a woman.” Frustration pushed the words from me. “I wish I had a man’s power.” I would challenge the merchant then for the children. And I would negotiate with kings for armies.

Instead of chiding, Ina shook her head. “Every man has been brought into this world by a woman. Ye have plenty of power of yer own, and no need to wish fer the power of another.”

She hugged me so warmly, as if I was enfolded in my own mother’s arms. Then tsked as we pulled apart. She was looking at my boots. “Ye dinnay mean to go on the road in those, do ye?”

She didn’t wait for an answer but shuffled off and fished around under her bed with a broomstick until she nudged out an ancient boot, then another. “Mine old man’s. He’s got nay need of ’em nay more.”

I thanked her with all my heart, put on the boots that felt as soft as a babe’s breath compared to my old pair, then took my bundle of food and walked back toward the inn, ready to make my bargain.

Chapter Thirteen

(Never a Slave Again)

Times being lean, Ishaf full of refugees already, the children did not collect much, but enough so Graho was able to secure a pile of hay in the inn’s yard for the night, along with a couple of blankets.

The innkeep’s wife smiled at the merchant, swishing her wide hips and tugging her doublet down so her oversized breasts could not escape his attention. Did she think him handsome? Did other women?

I could not, for I knew that greed ruled his heart, but I could allow that his visage had improved since we had left the ship. The meals Marga had provided us in the woods had filled out all our cheeks. And we had cleaned up in the creeks we had passed. Even the dark shadows were gone from around the merchant’s eyes, and those blue eyes seemed to have acquired a sparkle.

But despite the woman’s interest in him, Graho seemed to have no great interest in her. Once he spotted me, he bowed to her in short order, and strode to me and the children, a new rapier at his side. His mouth curved into a smile, as if he was relieved to see me there.

“I wish that you would share our accommodations, Lady Tera modest though they be,” he said.

“I thank you for that kindness.” I settled down by the children and laid out the food I had brought back for them.

The little ones were talking and smiling and seemed not the least tired from their day’s work. They seemed to like the safety of the courtyard, the softness of the hay, and the warmth of the blankets. Those luxuries were a considerable improvement over our sleeping arrangements in the forest.

We each ate an egg and a piece of bread, leaving the rest for breaking our fast in the morning. Once again, the children asked me for a tale. Talking with the herb woman about my mother reminded me of some stories she used to tell me as a child, so I recounted a couple, tales meant to teach as much as entertain.

Shahala children’s tales taught kindness, cleanliness, and honesty for the most part—different from Kadar tales that valued strength, bravery, and loyalty above all other traits. I used to think we were right and they were wrong. But the siege of Karamur had taught me that the world was a complicated place, and so I included a Kadar tale.

When the children fell asleep at long last, I looked up at the night sky, gathering the strength for what I meant to do next. For a moment, I thought I heard a tiger’s roar in the distance, but it did not repeat, so I could not be certain.

I hoped Marga would not steal any more horses. She could stay hidden in the forest and live. But if she came to hunt among the peasants who lived outside the city, she would be hunted and killed. I asked the spirits to keep her safe.

Then I filled my lungs with cold night air and looked over at the merchant. He was lying on his back, his hands folded under his head, his eyes open. He was looking as intently at the stars as if he meant to count them.

The children slept between us. I slid from under the blanket I shared with two of the little ones, Nala and Mora, and went over to the merchant’s side.

I crouched next to him, hugging my knees. “I wish to make a trade,” I whispered.

He turned to look at me, his blue eyes as black in the darkness as Batumar’s had been. He had that look of hunger on his face that Batumar used to have when we were alone in his bedchamber. Pain punched through my empty heart and banged around inside.

I swallowed hard, hugging my knees even tighter. “I wish to trade,” I said again, willing my voice not to tremble.

The merchant waited. With his arms up, folded under his head, I could see the bulge of muscles as his shirt sleeve pulled tight. Merchant or not, he was built like a warrior. He was much stronger than me. If he meant to, he could force me to his will. Mayhap I was foolish to try to bargain with a man such as he. But I had to try anyway.