The Rebellion (92 page)

It was still early enough to be chilly when I left Obernewtyn later that day, but by the time I reached the outskirts of Guanette, it was very bright and sunny, and I was hot enough to want to peel off a few layers of clothing. Stopping by the road, I slid from Gahltha and stripped off a thick shirt and jumper before replacing my jacket. I stuffed the extra clothes into my pack and rummaged for a couple of apples.

As Gahltha munched contentedly on his, I ate mine, then fed the core to him. At the same time, I sent out a wide-ranging, fine-grained probe attuned to Rushton’s mind. I was not surprised when it failed to locate. The coercers had covered the highlands very thoroughly by now.

“Let us ride,” Gahltha sent, and I mounted him, watched by a wide-eyed clutch of children making mud pies by the public well. They were too young to have learned to throw stones at halfbreeds, and there was not another soul in sight.

I rode down past Berryn Mor, clear for a rare change, and between the dun Brown Haw Rises and soaring Emeralfel at the end of the Gelfort Range, without ever seeing another rider. In the late afternoon, the road curved toward the forest, beyond which lay Arandelft. I was half tempted to ride to the little village to see what gossip the magi had generated. But I would hear the whole story from Gevan soon enough.

Some hours of uninterrupted riding later, the way grew abruptly busier as we neared the turnoff for Sawlney. Well-loaded carts trundled along slowly, and men and women on horseback or mule and groups of people afoot threaded around them.

Slowing to an amble, I used a trickle of coercivity to cloak us lightly and joined the crowd. I sensed Gahltha greeting other beasts on the road and exchanging information, and
this prompted me to let my mind rove among the human travelers. Predictably, most were bound for Sawlney, either to sell or trade goods at the bonding fair or simply to join the festivities. Two were thieves hoping to filch a few fat purses.

I focused the probe more tightly using Rushton’s face, but there was no corresponding memory in any of the minds I skimmed. Beginning to feel my energy drain, I withdrew and prayed to whatever forces of good there were to let me discover some clue to his whereabouts at the rebel meeting.

The traffic slowed to a crawl at the Sawlney turnoff. The congestion was increased by the customers surrounding a couple of stalls whose enterprising owners were offering food and drink to ravenous travelers at exorbitant prices. Most did not seem to mind the pace, but here and there someone grumbled.

I had not gone far down the Sawlney road when an argument broke out, and we came to a standstill. I sent a probe to find out what was happening and discovered with a touch of excitement that the mind I had accessed was one of Malik’s men. He was not high in his master’s hierarchy, but I dug about thoroughly in his mind just the same. Unfortunately, I found no memory connected to Rushton, though I did find a hatred inherited from Malik of Misfits, Brydda Llewellyn, Tardis of Murmroth, and, interestingly, Sadorians in general and Jakoby in particular.

Even after I had withdrawn the probe, the hatred into which I had dipped clung like a film of grease, and I resolved to stop farsending for the time being. I also decided to walk; after all, it was sheer laziness to ride when we were virtually standing still. Gahltha suggested we leave the road altogether and try threading our way through the thick trees alongside it. Given the look of the road ahead, clogged with wagons for
as far as I could see, I decided he was right.

Pushing our way through the undergrowth and ducking low-slung branches was tiresome, but it was faster than staying on the road. Still, it took another hour to reach Sawlney—or the temporary outskirts of Sawlney created by the number of visitors who had set up tents and wagons around the perimeter of the town. I threaded through the makeshift streets, leading Gahltha by the rein for the sake of appearances, my mind seeking Gevan’s. It took some time to locate him, for the magi were on the far side of town, in an area so empty of people that I guessed it must be set aside specifically for gypsies.

Once we reached the town proper, we took a path that ran between the outermost dwellings and a dense forest. By the time we reached the far side of the town, the forest was almost an impenetrable wall of green. A wide path had been cut through it, fortunately, and I entered, sensing that this path would bring me to the magi encampment. Before long, the noise of the town faded and I was struck by the silence of the forest. I could hear neither bird nor insect. The trees grew so close that even the wind seemed unable to penetrate to stir their foliage. Enormous twisted trunks were covered in a greenish moss that gave them a dusty appearance. I had the feeling that the trees were immeasurably ancient and found myself remembering the empath song of the prince who had discovered a forest that was a living extension of his slumbering princess. As a child, I had been sure that trees communicated in some way unknown to humans. It was not hard to imagine that this was a forest that lived and breathed and watched.

The path curved slightly and I came suddenly to the end of the forest. I caught my breath, for before me lay a broad
green veldt and beyond it the glimmering indigo of the endless ocean. A wave-scented wind whipped the hair back from my face and tugged at Gahltha’s mane and tail, and I took several deep breaths of its exotic fragrance. Sharp and briny, it reminded me vividly of the memorable sea journey to Sador on Powyrs’s fat-bellied
Cutter
. Inevitably, Rushton’s face came into my mind, for it was on this journey that we had first spoken of love to each other.

Gahltha shifted impatiently beside me, and I pulled myself together and sent out another probe. The grassy plain ran clear to the edge of the land with nothing more than a few clumps of scrubby brush to break the relentless sea winds. I spotted a bluish smudge of smoke above a straggling cluster of bushes, and as I approached, Gevan pushed through them and lifted his hand in greeting, sending that he had felt my probe. As usual, his rough-hewn coercer contact made my head ache.

“I gather this windy corner is kept especially for important performers,” I farsent dryly.

“Halfbreed performers,” he responded sardonically. “The townsfolk appreciate our tricks and pitch coins willingly enough, but they don’t see us as more than clever beasts.” He flicked his fingers expertly to welcome Gahltha and advise him where oats and bran mash could be found. I rubbed at my buttocks as the black horse trotted away, asking Gevan aloud if someone had had the foresight to include some of Kella’s soothing salve in their medicine box. It had been some time since I had ridden so far.

“I’m afraid not,” he said sympathetically. “But come and sit down and have some food. We’re about to eat.”

The others of the magi troupe were involved in various small tasks or seated on upended logs or low stools about a
fire pit lined with stones. They hailed me and called lazy greetings with the same informal air that always seemed to reign on expeditions but never at Obernewtyn. Perhaps that was one reason I enjoyed them so. Vegetables and fruit and bread were skewered in pieces over the flames, and one of the coercers was brushing a honey sauce over them, while another turned the sticks constantly.

“How was your trip anyway?” Gevan asked. “You don’t look any the worse for it.”

“The parts that are the worse for it are not necessarily visible,” I said tartly. “But the trip was uneventful. I trust the same can be said for your time here? How was the Councilman?”

“A tight-mouthed old bastard with a hard eye is the best that can be said of him. But he was pleased enough with us because his guests were pleased. Fortunately, they were as enthusiastic as Alum was dour. And they thanked us with coin, which was a good bit more welcome than sweet words, since everything here is double the usual price.” He snorted in disgust. “We’ll spend every cent we’ve made on supplies, though we do recoup a fair bit by performing in the main square each day.”

I frowned, accepting a hot mug of spiced milk from Merret. “Is it wise to be making yourself so visible with the rebels coming into town?”

His dark eyes glinted. “It might not be, if they were able to recognize us. Instead they even throw the odd coin. Brocade strode by yesterday without our having to deflect so much as a glance of curiosity.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said, shaking my head. “Did you see anything of Alum’s son, Jude?”

Merret’s face darkened. “Jude the monstrous, his servants call him behind his back, and I’m surprised they dare, because
he’d have the skin off their backs if he heard it. I don’t much believe in simple evil, but that man comes close. His wife had a black eye and bruises she claimed came from a fall. His children cringe every time their father looks their way, and one of them had a broken arm I’d bet was his doing. His horses are better kept because they’re worth coin, and they’re watched constantly because of a band of brilliant beast thieves operating throughout the Land.” She grinned mischievously. “Of course, they can’t imagine that the animals are escaping by themselves, so there has to be a gang behind the disappearances.”

“How did Jude react to you?”

She shrugged. “He felt we lowered the tone of the occasion. And he seemed concerned that the Herders officiating saw our performance as a mortal insult. They looked like they’d bitten into something rotten when we were performing, but I think they hate us just as a matter of form. It’s the purebreeds they really loathe.”

“Jude favors the Faction?”

“He’s thick as thieves with the local cloister’s head priest,” Gevan growled.

That was worth knowing, and I made a mental note to mention it to Tomash.

Night fell as we ate and the others talked of this trick and that customer. I enjoyed the simple meal and the sound of the fire crackling over the muted roar of the sea. Afterward, when the empaths and coercer drummers began softly to practice a new tune they had heard musicians play at the fair, I wondered whether it would ever be possible to learn where gypsies had come by Kasanda’s carvings—and whether she’d produced any more such works in the Land.

I asked Gevan if he had seen any carvings in his travels.

“Carvings?” he echoed blankly.

“As in monuments or maybe wall friezes.”

The coercer looked as if he thought I had lost my mind. “I doubt they even whittle in Arandelft. It is not the sort of place where arts and crafts flourish,” he said at last.

Merret said, “If you’re interested in carvings, Elspeth, the west coast is where you should be looking, not Arandelft or Sawlney.”

“Where on the west coast?” I asked eagerly.

The coercer licked her fingers and wiped them on a kerchief as she considered. “I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve heard talk of a place outside Aborium on the Murmroth side, right on the sea cliff, which used to be where stone-carvers were trained.”

“Used to be?”

“Well, there’s still a quarry there, and stonecutters are apprenticed to learn their trade, but these days the emphasis of the place is on cutting and dressing stone for the facades of Council buildings and the houses of rich traders. Cloisters, too. The only true carving that gets done is on gravestones, but in the past the place was famous for its fine work. The carvers did everything from statues of Councilmen to public monuments. The fashion now is to have them made of fancy blown glass from Murmroth.”

“A stone-carving works …,” I said doubtfully, thinking it did not sound like the sort of place where Kasanda would have worked.

“Anyway, there is still a display of stone carvings there, if you want to see the sort of stuff they used to do,” Merret said with a shrug.

“What makes you ask about such things?” Gevan asked curiously.

“Perhaps we’ll want a monument ourselves sometime,” I said blandly. I gave him no chance to question me further, saying I would stretch my legs for a bit and then turn in. I strolled out of the cozy circle of wagons. The wind was stronger, and the sound of the sea had grown insistent, as if night had whipped it into a state of turbulent agitation. I dared not walk to the edge, as the cliffs were unstable with the sea constantly gnawing at their base. Nevertheless, the now inky expanse drew me. I went a few steps toward it, admiring the way it mirrored the shimmering band of stars my father had liked to call the sky road.

I looked up, craning my neck. There was no moon, and I was glad. I had spent so much time with Maruman over the years that I had grown to dislike the sight of it looming over me, especially when it was full and looked like a burning white eye peering mercilessly down. I had no idea why Maruman felt as he did, but his loathing of the moon was as much a part of him as his legendary bad temper and queerly distorted mind.

I turned to walk parallel to the cliff. Maruman had elected to stay at Obernewtyn, saying Gahltha would watch over me until I returned. I had taken that to mean he saw no particular danger in my journey. I yawned deeply, hoping that were so.

Then I heard a soft footfall behind me.

I whirled to find Gahltha approaching.

“You should sleep,” he sent.

“I am planning on it.”

We walked side by side back to the magi campsite. I could hear that the empath musicians had given up practicing and were now playing a simplified version of the song that had accompanied the sleeping beauty story. The sound wound
into the night, frayed at the edges by the mournful sigh of the wind, and I stopped, entranced by the way it seemed to absorb the sea noise.

Again, I thought of Rushton, remembering the first time we had danced together with the wind in our hair and the night sky above.

“It is hard to be away/separate from a mate,” Gahltha sent wistfully.

I glanced at him. “You miss Avra and your foal.”

“I do,” he sent. “But seeing them with the freerunning horses made me see what I am not.”

I felt his pain as if it were my own and laid my head against his neck. “Dear one, you are yourself, and your spirit is free no matter that humans used you ill and bound and rode you. Perhaps in escaping the funaga-li, you are freer than the wild equines, because your freedom was hard-won. Can anyone really know freedom who has not known the lack of it?”