Inheritance (43 page)

“One more day,” he told Eder.

“They cannot ride like that again. The horses will drop dead.”

“We’ll take it easier tomorrow.” He turned when Eder sighed in relief. “But not too much easier. We must get there in time to find Prince Lynan.”

“Prado may be wrong. Lynan may be heading somewhere else.”

“Where else can he go? He is outlaw everywhere in the kingdom. Only in the Oceans of Grass can he hope to hide.”

“He could be going straight north, to Haxus,” Eder suggested.

“No. Not Elynd Chisal’s son. Haxus was the main base for the Slavers’ armies during the war.”

Eder spat on the ground. “You’re right. How sweet it will be to turn him over to King Salokan.” The thought made him smile.

Lynan stared at the night sky. The only star he knew was Leurtas, and he could see it just above the southern horizon.
That way lies Kendra
, he thought. He expected to experience a bout of homesickness, but instead all he felt was detachment. Maybe Kendra was no longer his home. He searched his feelings for anything about his previous life he did miss. Security came into his mind immediately, and the certainty of day-to-day life. He thought some more. What about relations and friends? He would have liked to see Olio again, and Pirem. But Olio was closest to his enemy, his sister Areava, and Pirem was dead. And all his other friends in the whole wide world were somewhere out there, either searching for him or trying to find a place to hide, or even dead. He would have given anything then to hear Kumul bark at him, or Ager suggest a bout with short swords, or be the victim of one of Jenrosa’s cutting remarks.

He shut his eyes to think about Jenrosa. He had fancied her once upon a time; now he did not know how he felt toward her; she was his friend, his companion, but nothing else stirred in him. That disappointed him. Maybe he should have followed her to her room that night in the inn; at least then Prado and his thugs would not have been able to steal him away.

Gudon stirred in his sleep and muttered something in a language Lynan could not understand.
Here I am, in the middle of a mountain range, with a lame Chett and a tired horse for company. I should be hiding under a rock in despair
. But instead he was feeling… he could not quite find the word, but was surprised to find that “content” came closest. It was not what he had expected. But even as he questioned it, he realized the reasons for it. He was still alive, he was within two days journey of at least some kind of refuge, and when his powerful enemies thought of him at all, they thought of him as a threat.

He found Leurtas again and glowered at it, as if it represented everything in the south that wanted him dead and gone and forgotten. Anger sparked a cold fire inside of him, and the contentment was sharpened by a new determination.

I will survive
, he promised the star.
And I will return to claim what is mine, no matter who tries to stop me. I am Prince Lynan Rosetheme, son of Queen Usharna and Elynd Chisal, and I hold a Key of Power
.

One moment Lynan and Gudon were surrounded by stunted trees and harsh saltbush, their feet and the hoofs of their horse slipping on the scree, and the next they half fell, half stumbled onto level ground. The flanks of the Ufero Mountains towered above them like stone giants, gray and grim. For the first time in two days Lynan saw flowering plants: mountain daisies and summer trees, shinbark and sharrok pines. And there were birds. He could not see them, but he could hear them. He could also hear water.

“Is this the Algonka Pass?”

“The south side. You can hear the Algonka River a few hundred paces from here, marked by that line of trees. Beyond that is the road.”

They did not set off immediately but rested briefly from their descent, and Lynan applied more haethu to Gudon’s knee and his jaw. Lynan had to admit the haethu was working; he could no longer see bone in Gudon’s wound, and the flesh and skin were starting to knit into an ugly scar. His own scar was smoother now, and there was no longer any pain.

“I think I will have a limp,” Gudon said almost cheerfully, patting his leg.

“No need to sound so happy about it.”

“Considering I almost lost the whole leg, it is a pleasant alternative. Besides, we Chett live in the saddle.” He rubbed his backside gingerly. “Well, most of us. My life on the river has spoiled me.”

The Algonka was indeed shallow, and although the water was incredibly cold, they had no trouble crossing. They passed through the opposite river gallery and stopped. There was a huge caravan making its way on the road, its start lost in the haze to the west, and its end lost somewhere in the east. Great wagons drawn by teams of ten or more horses trundled by, their huge wheels sounding like milling stones on the dirt road. Dust hung over the caravan like a brown shroud. Lynan saw men riding shaggy looking ponies and mules, keeping an eye on their property and occasionally lashing the labouring horses to keep them moving. Lynan had never seen anything like it. Almost all goods coming into Kendra made it by boat.

“The Failing Sun Caravan,” Gudon said. “I was hoping we would run into it.”

“The Failing Sun?”

“The last great caravan before winter sets in and makes this road impassable. All the merchants from Hume and even Chandra who can contribute to it do so. They bring metals and wine, weapons and tools, and take back thousands of cattle and horses. It is easier going west than going east, believe me. You don’t want to journey accompanied by so many beasts. I have tried it.”

“What do we do? Just join it?”

“Truth. There are so many in the caravan, two more will make no difference. The merchants and their guards will ignore us as long as we ignore them.”

Lynan tugged on the horse’s reins, and they moved forward and merged with the great stream of traffic. Around them milled merchants on horseback or on foot, their servants scurrying behind or riding on the wagons; some children ran past playing a game of catch-me; one old man on a donkey was selling honey wine from a huge flask strapped to his back. They ended up following a wagon loaded with painted pottery, all packed in straw boats. Lynan spent most of the next hour avoiding horse droppings, but in the end gave up and just trudged on, oblivious of what he stepped in. After a while the dust thrown up by the caravan had coated his face and gotten in his mouth and ears. He suggested to Gudon they move away from the center of the caravan and closer to the river.

“I do not think that is a good idea, little master. Here we are lost among so many. No reason to make ourselves stand out.”

“I am dying of thirst, Gudon.”

“Well, then, I will see to that.” He hailed the vendor of honey wine and offered some of his haethu in exchange for two glasses; the vendor agreed willingly. Lynan hesitantly accepted the dirty glass, but the wine that poured down his throat was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and seemed to take all the dust on its way down to his gullet. They carried on, moving in the middle of the great beast. He noticed people munching on biscuits as they walked or rode. “Does no one stop for a meal?” he asked Gudon.

“The caravan only stops at night. It is too much effort otherwise, and there is protection in numbers.”

“Protection from whom?”

“There are bandits hereabouts who prey on merchants foolish enough to get separated from the caravan. Some from Hume, some Chett, some from distant lands who cannot make a living doing anything else except preying on the weak and vulnerable.”

After climbing along the slopes of the mountains for two days, Lynan found it easy to keep pace with the large wagons. He watched all about him with great curiosity, and now and then Gudon offered a commentary. “That one has come all the way from Lurisia—see the timber in his wagon? The tribes will use that to make their bows and shelters. Over there, I do believe, are priests of the Lord of the Mountain from Aman, coming to make converts among my people; they have wasted their journey, I fear. The merchant with the tall hat is from Sharrock; it will take him nearly half a year to return home…”

And these are all from Theare
, Lynan thought to himself. Indeed, most of them were from some part of Grenda Lear. For the first time in his life he had a notion of just how diverse was the kingdom’s makeup. The maps he had seen did not do it justice. He felt a surge of pride that he was a scion of the family that had united all of these peoples under one crown.

Gudon tapped him on the shoulder. “Do not turn around, but wait for him to pass. A tall man on a big horse.”

A moment later Lynan saw the man come into view. He was dressed in leather armor and was inspecting every one he passed. He threw Lynan and Gudon a lingering glance, but moved on.

“Mercenary,” Lynan said.

“Truth. Searching for us. Prado or one of his men must have survived, and their friends have come looking for us.”

“How do you know that? They could be looking for someone else…” The argument sounded hollow even to him. “Why didn’t he look us over more closely?”

“Think, little master. If you were searching for a prince and a pilot, who would you assume was on the horse?”

Lynan laughed. “Your injury may yet do us good.”

“This time, but perhaps not next time,” Gudon cautioned. “We must become even less conspicuous. Early in the morning, before the dust rises, we will be more obvious.”

The wagon in front of them hit a hole in the road. The load of fragile pottery shifted, and the straw boats at the back started to slip through a loosened knot. Lynan threw Gudon the reins and rushed forward. He tightened the rope across the back of the wagon and retied the knot. A short, bearded man appeared on a donkey. He raised a cane to strike at Lynan’s hands.

“Good sir!” Gudon cried out. “He has saved your goods from destruction!”

The merchant hesitated, holding his cane high in the air.

“Sir,” Lynan said in as meek a voice as possible, “the rope was loose. See the knot I have tied? Is this yours?”

The merchant lowered his arm and leaned over the donkey to see the knot. He had a small, sharp face, and his eyes gleamed like a rat’s. “My father’s soul,” he sighed, shaking his head, “that is not my knot. Forgive me, sir. You have done me a great favor and I would have caned you for it.” The merchant sucked through his teeth. “But there is an obligation. You will eat in my tent tonight.”

“That is too much generosity,” Gudon argued. “It was only a knot!”

Lynan scowled at Gudon. They had no food, and the crazy pilot was throwing away a free meal!

“Too much generosity!” cried the merchant. “I will show you too much generosity! Not only will you eat with me tonight, you will sleep with me and my servants so you will be safe from brigands!”

Gudon bowed his head. “You are munificent.”

The merchant puffed himself up. “Yes.
And
I am generous.”

“Indeed,” Gudon agreed, smiling faintly. “My name is Gudon. My friend’s name is—”

“Migam!” Lynan said quickly.

“Migam,” Gudon confirmed.

“Good to meet you, I am sure. I am Goodman Gatheras, merchant from Sparro, dealer in the world’s finest pottery. Have you seen my wares?”

“Indeed,” Gudon said. “We have been following your wagon for several hours and admiring the pottery.”

“The Chetts will buy all of this?” Lynan asked.

“Most of it,” Gatheras replied. “Much of which they will then sell on to merchants from Haxus in the spring. I also sell some of my wares to other merchants like me. The Failing Sun Caravan is a great opportunity to meet those from faraway lands.” He looked downcast then. “Alas, it is also a great opportunity for thieves.” He blinked at Lynan. “For which I mistook you.”

“An innocent mistake,” Lynan told him.

Gatheras sat erect on his donkey, a proud king dressed in a merchant’s finery. “Not only am I munificent and generous,” he declared, “I am also plenteous. Not only will you share our food and our tent, but I offer you the protection of my company all the way to the Strangers’ Sooq.”

“Ah, benevolence!” Gudon cried, raising his arms in supplication. “What fortune to have tied your knot!”

The merchant nodded stiffly, accepting the compliment. “I must see to the knots on my other wagons. Excuse me.” He tapped the donkey with his cane and trotted off into the dust, muttering to himself: “Munificent… generous… plenteous… benevolent…”

“Your good deed has served us well,” Gudon said to Lynan.

“The mercenary returns,” Lynan said under his breath.

The rider in leather was in more of a hurry going back down the line. He barely glanced at the pair.

“The real danger will be at the sooq,” Gudon said. “It will be easier for them to discern between merchants and freeloaders like us.”

“How are we going to find Lynan amid all this?” Jenrosa asked. She coughed as even more dust found its way down her throat. All around her trundled wagons, herds of people and stamping horses. She desperately wanted to ride, to try and get above at least some of the dust and confusion, but Kumul had insisted they stay on foot. It was the only chance they had of making himself and Ager even remotely inconspicuous.

They had reached the pass an hour before. Ager had known of the Failing Sun Caravan from his work with merchants, but Kumul and Jenrosa were overwhelmed first by the spectacle and then by the confusion. They felt like grains of wheat floating helplessly with the current of a great river. The sun, low in the western horizon, was shining full on their faces; it looked obscenely distended and red in the haze, but its light was still strong enough to make them squint.

“We have no chance of finding him in this crowd without bringing attention to ourselves,” Ager said. “We will have to wait until we reach the Strangers’ Sooq at the end of the pass.”

“How long?” Jenrosa asked.

“I have never traveled this road, but I have been told the journey from Daavis is four days with a wagon: two days to reach the Algonka Pass and two days to cross and reach the sooq. We came onto the road about halfway along the pass. So a day, maybe two, at the most.”

“And if we do find Lynan there, what next?”