Deborah Hale (18 page)

“No, but—”

“In case you have not noticed, the mainlanders outnumber our Vestan soldiers these days. If you try to prevent them from taking their legitimate revenge, they will turn on you,
Waiting King.
And if they do, the Han will be the least of our worries.”

He pointed to Rath’s bedroll. The fierceness of his tone and stance eased. “Now lie down and get some sleep. You are too…overwrought to be making any plans just now. Tomorrow everything I’ve said will make better sense to you.”

It wasn’t that, Rath wanted to protest. Idrygon’s arguments all made sense, but they did not change the way he felt about any of this. It was not the kind of glorious, honorable conquest he’d imagined they would make. Perhaps there was no glory or honor to be found in conquest.

He settled himself onto his bedroll as Idrygon had bidden, hoping the
sythria
would numb him to sleep and keep his nightmares at bay.

“Enough talk for tonight.” Idrygon pulled the blanket over Rath. “We must be on the move tomorrow. Up into the mountains as I promised you. Perhaps when you see the mines again you will not feel so sorry for the poor ill-used Han.”

“This is not about the Han,” Rath murmured as drink and sleep joined forces to overpower him. “It is about us.”

That was it—not that the Han should be slaughtered the way he had seen today, but that his countrymen should take such brutal delight in killing.

Idrygon rose and headed off, tossing the drink skin aside.

As Rath surrendered to sleep, he heard Idrygon mutter, “I thought an outlaw would have a stronger stomach.”

Rather than waking
from
a nightmare, Maura woke
to
one.

She found herself astride a horse—her feet tied to the stirrups of its saddle and her hands lashed to the pommel. The horse’s reins were attached to the mount of her Hanish escort.

Twisting around in her saddle, she could see Delyon trussed
to the back of another horse like a piece of cargo. She almost envied his continued stupor. At the same time it worried her.

Would she be able to revive him before they reached Venard? If not, what would she do then?

No need to go searching for trouble,
she reminded herself of an old Norest saying.
It always finds its way home.

Plenty of trouble had already found its way home to her. Behind them the sun was setting, but their Hanish escort detail did not show any sign of stopping to sleep or eat. Overhead a fat bundle of clouds threatened rain.

On the bright side—at least they were moving toward Venard many times faster than they had been. Since leaving the town where they’d been captured, Maura judged they had traveled a distance that would have taken her and Delyon many nights of hard walking.

Shaking herself fully awake, she looked around. There were many other soldiers on the road besides their small party—some marching in groups, others riding. Maura had never seen so many Han. Were they
all
on their way to battle Rath’s forces? How many other roads in the kingdom were flooded with troops?

To have any hope of prevailing against such a host, Rath would need the magical Staff of Velorken. Somehow, she must find a way to revive Delyon and make their escape before they fell into the hands of the Echtroi.

The soldier guarding Maura glanced up at the sky and said something to the one guarding Delyon, who replied with a curt word and a nod.

What was he agreeing to? Maura wished she understood a little Hanish. If only she had asked Rath to tutor her—that would have been a far more productive use of their last days together on Margyle than arguing with him and avoiding him. Now she concentrated on remembering that every mile the horse carried her was a mile closer to Rath.

Before the sun had fully set and before the clouds had done
more than spit a few drops of rain, Maura’s party reached a village about the size of Windleford. As they approached the local garrison compound, the soldiers slowed their mounts and halted. Both climbed down from their saddles. Delyon’s guard held the reins of both horses, while Maura’s guard went inside. He returned shortly and motioned for them to enter the courtyard.

“We bide the night here,” he informed Maura as he unbound her hands and feet from the saddle.

Her feet prickled fiercely when the ropes came off. She clung to the horse as she slid down from the saddle, fearing her legs would not support her. Pride would not allow her to lean upon a Han—she would sooner fall.

“Come.” Her guard took her by the arm and marched her toward one of several cells that faced onto the courtyard.

Hearing a soft grunt of exertion and a heavy tread behind her, she glanced back to see the other guard with Delyon slung over his shoulder.

“My lord,” she begged her guard in Comtung. “I pray you put me with my friend so I can tend him tonight.”

She could tell by his deepening scowl that the Han meant to refuse her.

Before he could rap the words out, she rushed on. “I am only his guide. I know nothing of value to the Echtroi, but he might,
if
he can be revived.”

“Anxious to spare yourself the attention of the death-mages, are you?” The guard gave a dry, mocking chuckle.

Maura nodded. “And you, my lord. Will they thank you for bringing them a dead man who is beyond their power to question?”

The Han was quick to disguise the flicker of fear her warning kindled…but not quick enough.

“It matters not to me.” He pushed her through the cell door one of the local soldiers held open. “The lowling will be less bother to Urgid if he can sit a horse and walk.”

He muttered something to the other guard, who hoisted Delyon off his shoulder and shoved him into the cell with Maura. As Delyon’s dead weight fell against her, Maura crumpled to the hard-packed earth floor. Though it knocked the wind out of her, she congratulated herself on having spared him another blow on the head.

After making him as comfortable as she could with her rolled-up cloak for a pillow, she inspected their tiny cell. It had stout stone walls on three sides, while thick metal bars made up the fourth. There was no furnishing of any kind, not even a wooden slat attached to the wall for a bed. There were two metal cans about the height of her knee. One held water that dripped from a small hole in the roof. It was filling now with a steady, high-pitched trickle as the rain gathered force.

The other container looked and smelled like a privy bucket. Holding her nose, she made hasty use of it, then returned to Delyon. His heartbeat was steady, though a little slow, and he was breathing well—good signs both.

When Maura looked more closely at the water can, she found a small metal cup resting at the bottom of it. Emptying it of all but a small amount of water, she pulled out some of Dame Diotta’s quickfoil. She had been afraid the Han might take their sashes, as Vang Spear of Heaven had done when he’d captured her. But after a quick inspection revealed their contents of plant and animal matter, the officer had dismissed them with a contemptuous shrug. If only he knew!

Now Maura rolled the leaves between her palms to release their most potent essence and dropped them into the water. Next she added a liberal pinch of laceweed and moonmallow. She wished she’d been able to give them to Delyon earlier. She also wished she had some means to heat the water for this tonic. Ah well, there was no help for it. She could only do what she could do and appeal to the Giver to supply the rest.

Sliding her arm under Delyon’s shoulder, she lifted his head and began to dribble the tonic into his mouth. It brought back
painful memories of the night she had worked over Langbard in a similar fashion, trying to revive him. Then, she had been too late. Would she be too late for Delyon?

She was beginning to fear so, when suddenly his gorge rose and fell to swallow the tonic. By the time she had emptied the cup, his eyelids were beginning to flicker and he gave a soft groan of pain.

Under other circumstances, Maura would have given him a draft of summerslip, but she did not want to risk knocking him out again when she had just succeeded in rousing him. Instead, she mixed up a poultice of marshwort, candleflax and winterwort and gently applied it to the painful-looking bump on his head.

By the time she had finished binding his injured head with strips of linen, Delyon had come fully awake.

“What happened?” he groaned. “Where are we?”

Maura told him.

“I remember now—the sign! The Hanish letters reminded me of some of the symbols on my scroll. I believe they could be the key to deciphering the rest of it.” Delyon reached for his belt. “My scroll—where is it?”

“The guards have it.” Maura restrained him when he tried to sit up. “The Han seem to think it may be some coded plan or spy message. They are taking it, and us, to Venard where the Echtroi are gathered.”

“We must get it back!” Delyon struggled to rise from the floor of their cell. “And we must escape from here! We cannot fall into the hands of the Echtroi!”

“Hush! Lie still.” She spoke
twaran,
in case they might be overheard. “We are in no danger at the moment. I do not fancy being interrogated by the Echtroi, either. But I am not opposed to accepting a ride to Venard, even if it is in the company of Hanish soldiers.”

Delyon mulled over the notion for a moment or two, then he gave a grudging nod. “With our supplies and coins gone,
what choice have we? I beg your pardon for landing us in this trouble.”

“What’s done is past.” With an effort, Maura let her resentment go, recalling something Langbard had often said. “We cannot go back and fix it, we can only move forward and make the best of it.”

Delyon lifted his hand to clasp hers. “How much longer do you think it will take us to reach Venard?”

Maura shook her head. “Another day, perhaps two. By then we must have you well and fit and ready to make our escape.”

She thought for a moment. “We may not get another chance to talk before then. So let us lay our plans now and hope the Giver will send us an opportunity.”

The rain fell all that night until the water can in Maura and Delyon’s cell overflowed. Maura gave thanks that the wind was blowing from the west and not in through the bars on the open wall of the cell. Perhaps minding her warning about the Echtroi not wanting dead prisoners, the Han fed them.

It was not a very appetizing dish, especially after being half drowned on its way to their cell, but Maura ate every bite and coaxed Delyon to do the same. They could not afford to faint from hunger when their chance to escape presented itself.

Their guards seemed surprised the next morning to find Delyon alert and able to walk. They set off early in spite of the continued rain. As they rode, Maura beseeched the Giver to make the sun come out before they reached Venard. Her escape plan depended upon the invisibility spell. Though Dame Diotta had assured her
genow
scales were less vulnerable than cuddybird feathers to water, she did not want to take any chances.

The answer to her plea came so swiftly Maura could hardly believe it, though she chided herself for not having better faith. Without warning, the wind shifted. It soon blew all the rain clouds away and, combined with the sun’s warmth, rapidly dried her clothes.

After several hours their party halted for a quick meal of bread and some meat. While they were stopped, Maura pretended to tend Delyon’s head wound as an excuse for exchanging a few words in
twaran.
“How are you feeling today? Any better?”

Delyon nodded. “Thanks to your tonic. My head aches with the jolting of the horse’s stride, but I can bear it.”

“Good, for I dare not dose you with summerslip. We will both need our wits about us when our chance to escape comes.”

“This may be the best chance we get.” Delyon pointed to his head, as if he were still talking about his injuries.

Maura unwrapped the poultice binding for a quick look, pleased to see the swelling had gone down. “I wish I knew how far we are from Venard. I’d rather not part company from our
escorts
too soon.”

Gathering up her nerve, she asked one of the guards, “Will we reach Venard today, my lord?”

“Why do you ask?” The Han gave a mocking chuckle. “Anxious to meet a death-mage and see his pretty gem before the day is over?”

“Too bad.” The other guard laughed at his jest. “You will have to wait until tomorrow, lowling sow.”

Maura turned back to Delyon. “We will have one more night on the road, by the sound of it. I think we should delay our escape as long as we dare.”

“Very well.” Delyon sounded uncertain, but willing to follow where she led. “And we must find some way to get my scroll back. That spell may be our key to recovering the Staff of Velorken.”

Several hours later they stopped at the Hanish garrison in another village. Maura’s guard went inside, then came out a short time later muttering what sounded like curses. He snapped a few words at Delyon’s guard, then climbed into his saddle and the party kept riding. The same thing happened at the next village.

Though the scowls of the two soldiers warned her not to ask them what was wrong, Maura could guess. With so many troops on the road, all the officers must be commandeering quarters with local garrisons along the way, leaving no room for their party.

When they finally stopped for a quick bite to eat, Maura slipped Delyon a leaf of quickfoil. “Tuck that in your cheek until you need it. I reckon we will be pressing on to Venard tonight after all.”

She could see a number of possible advantages to that…as well as several drawbacks.

The sun set and the wind grew cool as they rode on. A sickle moon and great swaths of twinkling stars bathed the great plain of Westborne with their pale, bluish light. Straight ahead of her on the eastern horizon, Maura could see the gleaming star group called the Sword of Velorken, its blade pointing north.

Could it truly be that Velorken’s staff still existed and lay waiting in Venard for her to recover it? Doubt gouged a cold hollow in her belly until she remembered how many other impossible legends she had seen come true of late.