The Silvered (13 page)

Tail clamped tight, he limped back and forth across the scar in the earth that still smelled of his brother, wishing someone would just appear and tell him what to do.

Because Ryder was dead and…

Ears up, he turned toward the river. He could hear voices; two men speaking Pyrahn. Pyrahn soldiers, having run from the duchy with the Imperials on their heels, had fought and died beside the Pack and the Aydori 1st. Maybe these men were wounded. Maybe he could help them. Maybe they’d know what he should do.

It wasn’t easy covering uneven terrain with one front leg unable to bear his full weight, but for the sake of doing something, of doing anything, he managed it. Moving toward the voices, he picked his way diagonally down the slope toward the river, going around obstacles he’d have jumped without thinking another time. At the water’s edge, he turned upstream. The men were no longer talking, but he thought he knew where they were. Or had been. He moved a little faster.

Rounding one of the many stumps created by artillery fire, he saw a pair of old men bent over a body, stripping it of its uniform. An Aydori uniform. The same green and brown Harry’d worn yesterday morning when he’d died standing between Pyrahn refugees and the Imperial army.

Not soldiers. Scavengers.

Tomas launched himself forward, forgetting the pain. He couldn’t stop the howl from ripping free. He was close enough the warning didn’t matter. The scavengers jerked away from the half-naked body, but before they could run, he crushed the scream in the throat of the man nearest the water, taking him down, tearing out mouthfuls of flesh. When he turned, blood dripping from his muzzle, the other man was running up toward the larger trees.

Stupid man. He had hands. He could climb after him.

No. The silver in the wound kept him from changing. He had to end the chase before his quarry reached a tree large enough to climb.

Leaping the body, Tomas stumbled and nearly fell as the impact of his paw with the ground shot lines of pain out from the impacted piece of silver. He switched back to three legs and kept going. Uphill was easier than down and rage lent him strength.

They reached the ridge together. Tomas lunged forward and closed his teeth on a mouthful of filthy fabric. This close, even over the blood still coating his muzzle, he could smell young man, not old and under that, something sharp, bitter…if hunger had scent…

A bare heel slammed into his bad shoulder.

Tumbling back down the slope, Tomas landed on his left side, pawed the cloth from his teeth, and, snarling, fought his way back onto his feet in time to see the surviving scavenger dive through a break in the trees and run deeper into Aydori. He had to be trying to get to the river above the rapids. It was the only way back to Pyrahn that didn’t go past Tomas.

Pushing himself past the pain, Tomas followed, holding tightly to a single coherent thought:
Stop him
.

A scrap of fabric caught on a branch.

Fresh blood in a footprint.

The only living scent in the woods, impossible to lose.

Snapping and growling as he shoved through the underbrush, Tomas emerged onto bare ground, looking down over the river. He could hear the roar/hiss of water dropping over a jumble of rock. Saw the scavenger fling himself from ledge to ledge then suddenly end his wild descent, realizing there was no safety here. If he tried to cross, the river would take him. White showed all around his eyes as he twisted and looked up.

Tomas had no intention of allowing the river to take his prey.

He could smell the fear.

Growling low in his throat, he gathered himself to…

Froze.

Another scent.

An almost familiar scent.

He straightened, lifting his head into the breeze.

Almost Pack.

Alive.

The scavenger no longer of any importance, Tomas turned and ran upstream. The scent came from above the rapids. He plunged back into the trees, the river on his left, following the slope of the ground as it dropped back toward the river. He staggered, bounced off a tree, kept going.

Up ahead, the underbrush grew thick again, marking the edge of another clearing. He slowed and dropped to his belly to crawl past the older wood, below the long thorns. The silver flashes of water he could glimpse to the left moved around until he could see them out in front as well. A creek? Spring runoff?

Gray where it shouldn’t be caught his attention and he crawled toward it.

She wasn’t dead. She didn’t smell dead. As he watched, she tried to move a little farther out of the water without much success.

About to rise and risk the thorns, a new scent froze him in place. Men. He lifted his head as high as he dared, nostrils flaring, forcing himself to smell something other than the warm, amazing scent of
her
. Three…no, four men, Imperial soldiers, moving fast.

Gold glittered in the air between the soldiers and the woman, too small and moving too fast for Tomas to identify it, but it smelled bitter and cold like old mage-craft. She flinched as it touched her and disappeared into the wet, tangled mess of her hair.

Three pairs of boots stopped just at the edge of his vision, bodies masked by half grown leaves. The fourth pair moved close enough he could see they belonged to an officer, a captain. From what Tomas could see of his face, he looked like a professional soldier. A man who’d do what he was ordered to do whether he liked it or not. As Tomas watched, he reached down, grabbed the woman’s arm, and hauled her up onto her feet.

Instinct fought with reason and reason won although, deep down, Tomas knew that had he not been wounded and exhausted, reason wouldn’t have stood a chance. He’d have charged out and gotten himself shot by the three men who, given their position, had to be holding muskets on their captive.

Whoever she was, they thought she was dangerous.

Well, they weren’t stupid because given the way she smelled, she was a high-level mage of some kind. He recognized the almost Pack
scent now—Mage-pack. Potential Mage-pack anyway. She didn’t smell mated.

He watched as the captain efficiently bound her arms behind her. Watched as he half carried her over to where his men waited.

Whoever she was, she was the only thing that had smelled like Pack since Tomas had come back to consciousness facing the dead Imperial gunner.

At least he knew what he had to do now.

“So what now, Cap?”

Reiter stared down at the girl—woman,
very
young woman—and frowned. He could see the tangle glinting in the wet mess of her hair, more obvious than it had been on the others for all she had a lot more hair, but she hadn’t tried to escape with mage-craft, so he had to assume it was working. She looked annoyed, exhausted, and frightened in that order. He appreciated the lack of weeping and wailing. Actually, there’d been a distinct lack of weeping and wailing from all six women the Soothsayers had sent them after. Was it bravery or did they not understand what was happening to them?

“Cap?”

“We take her to Karis, as ordered.”

“Do we go back and join up with the lieutenant?” Armin wondered, and all three of them turned to look back, as though they could see the distance they’d covered.

Best snorted, bicorn in his hand, fingers scratching through damp hair. “He won’t be there, you dumb shit. We’re coming on late afternoon and he started moving when we left.”

“No one told you to lower your guard,” Reiter growled, pulling out his map.

“But, Cap, the tangle…”

“You want to bet your life on an artifact that’s been gathering dust in the treasury for a couple hundred years? Or on the Tower .625 caliber musket you’re holding?”

Chard swung his weapon back around to point at their captive. “Well, if you put it that way…”

“Armin. Best.”

“Yes, sir!” They snapped it out together, although Best’s musket
rose noticeably faster. Seemed Armin didn’t much like holding a weapon on a helpless woman. Well, neither did Reiter, but what he did or didn’t like had no bearing on what he would or wouldn’t do. He had his orders. They all did.

“We’ll follow the river around to the ford, and cross into the Duchy of Pyrahn…” What
had
been
the Duchy of Pyrahn and was now a part of the empire; or would be as soon as politics caught up to war. “…then we follow the border until we meet up with Lieutenant Geurin and the wagons.”

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but there’s no ford marked on that map and even if they didn’t blow the bridge, it’s still a good five miles out of our way.”

Reiter turned just far enough to meet Armin’s eyes. The soldier tried not to look like he’d been reading the map over his captain’s shoulder, gaze sliding sideways to lock attentively on their captive. “If the army’s crossed into Aydori…” Reiter paused so they could all hear the sound of distant gunfire. “…then there’s a ford.”

“Probably more than one,” Chard snorted. “Trust me, I’ve spent a stupid amount of time on dig the crap back
out
of the river duty ’cause that’s way too much actual work for
engineers
.” When Reiter turned to glare at him, he grinned. “And no one cares. Right. Shutting up now, sir.”

Not for the first time, Reiter wondered how Chard had managed to survive his few years in the army without losing the skin off his back. Insubordination was still a six-stroke offense, but even Geurin, the very definition of an officious prick, had put up with Chard’s mouth. Still, sometimes, his mouth was useful.

Their captive had been watching Chard through her lashes as he spoke; listening, not merely hearing.

“Everyone speaks a little Imperial, Captain. The language, like the empire, is…pervasive.”

Something to remember, although, here and now, he had nothing to say to the mage nor did he need to hear anything she had to say to him.

“Armin, you and Chard keep her on her feet and moving. Best, you’re on our six.” Of the three, Best had the most traditional view of the beastmen of Aydori and Best’s beliefs wouldn’t let him get complacent. The job wasn’t done until their captive was in Karis.

“You think if the lieutenant gets there first, he’ll leave us a wagon, Cap?” Before Reiter could speak, Chard sighed and answered his own question. “Yeah. Me, either.”

If her hands hadn’t been tied, Danika would have struggled until the two soldiers keeping her upright in the current lost their footing on the slick rock, sending the three of them into the river. She was a strong swimmer and her clothes were designed to be easily removed. The soldiers, on the other hand, weighted down by boots and weapons and packs would be at the mercy of the icy water, swept away, and drowned. Two less enemies of Aydori.

Were it not for the golden net suppressing her abilities, it wouldn’t matter that her hands were tied. She could take air into the water with her. Of course, if it were not for the golden net, they’d still be on the road to Trouge arguing that they should have kept one of the enemy alive to question. Jesine was a strong Healer, but not quite strong enough to question the dead.

But her hands
were
tied and she had access to only the most basic mage-craft, so to drown the enemy, she’d also drown herself and her unborn child. While that would still result in two less enemies of Aydori, she was a long way from the point where death seemed the only escape. Where there was life, there was hope. Where there was life, Ryder would find her.

From what she’d overheard, the artifacts restraining them were ancient and everyone knew time weakened even the strongest mage-craft. Danika tested the net’s control constantly, barely allowing the pain to fade before she tried again. From what she’d seen of their expressions, Stina and Jesine were doing the same. Annalyse looked so miserable her expression could have been hiding anything, and Kirstin had remained strangely quiet. But then, Kirstin hadn’t been herself for some days, although preparations for the war had kept Danika from inquiring. She’d thought to have plenty of time to speak to her on the road to Trouge.

In her defense, this was not something she could have anticipated. Soothsayers had a way of complicating the most basic of expectations.