The Silvered (27 page)

She didn’t look down when he caught up. He limped along beside her for a few steps, but every time his left forefoot hit the ground it sent a shock of pain up into his shoulder, so he changed and, cradling his left arm against his chest, matched her pace on two.

When it became obvious she wasn’t going to speak first, Tomas cleared his throat. “Thank you for saving my life. It was rude of me to not mention that before.”

He heard her snort although he suspected he wasn’t intended to. “You’re welcome. I would have done it for anyone.”

Polite, but still angry. “I apologize for not respecting your decision to carry on. I have no right to dictate your actions and…” Frowning he tried to work out just what it was she wanted to hear. “…and you have certainly proven yourself capable. I mean, you got captured by Imperials, but that wasn’t your fault.”

“Thank you.”

Her tone dropped the temperature, already almost too cold to be out in skin, another few degrees. He didn’t know what he’d said wrong and had no idea of what to say to fix things between them. A memory of her fingers stroking his shoulder suggested a better way than words. He changed and butted his head against her hip.

When she ignored him, he did it again, putting enough weight behind it that she staggered. When she turned to glare at him, he hit her with what Harry’d called the puppy eyes of doom.

“You can take down a doe on your own, snap her neck between those monster jaws, and cover yourself in blood and guts, but you give me that look and all I want to do is bury my hands in your fur and tell you what a good boy you are. So stop giving me that look, you walking carpet, it creeps me out.”

Mirian laughed, as though she hadn’t intended to, and finally said, “All right. You’re forgiven. We’re in this together.” She reached out
to stroke his head, then snatched her hand back, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I know better, it’s just…”

Tomas shoved his head up under her hand. It was the two of them against the empire. They could both use the comfort of touch. It didn’t have to mean anything more, not if she didn’t want it to. No matter how good she smelled.

A few moments later, he reluctantly pulled away from her hand and changed. “It’s almost fifteen miles to Herdon. If I stay in fur, I’ll be on three legs when I get there.”

“Before Herdon…”

“A few small farms, but Herdon’s the first town. It’s where the sawmill is. Where they take the logs,” he amended. She’d said her father was a banker. Two days ago, her life had been shopping and card parties and dances; why would she know what a sawmill was. “The logs they cut in the forest,” he added, just in case.

“I know where logs come from.” But he heard her smile, so that meant she wasn’t angry. “Why wouldn’t they build the sawmill closer to the trees?”

“They did. A hundred years ago.”

“But these trees…” She waved a hand at the woods surrounding them.

“Softwoods. They cut them, too, but they’re what grew up when the hardwoods were gone, so every year, if they want the good stuff, they have to cut farther away from the mill.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Herdon’s the biggest town in the borderlands. You can’t protect the border unless you know why people are there. And, the duke’s been after Ryder to send some Aydori timber to Herdon. Says it would open up new sections of our woods for cutting if we could send floats down the Vern directly to Herdon and the mill pond rather than having to feed everything into the Nairn and down to our mill at Bercarit. Trouble is, the Vern’s not exactly deep in places, but the duke even offered to deepen the pool under the falls on our side of the border because Herdon lives or dies with the mill, and he doesn’t intend for it to die. Ryder said that’s an admirable thought, but if we gave the old weasel access, he’d strip the mountain bare in a decade. I had to go to the meetings as his aide. The most boring four days of my life.” Suddenly realizing he’d just repeated the highlights
of the most boring four days of his life, he flushed, thankful it was too dark for Mirian to see his face. “But more importantly,” he added hurriedly, “is that fifteen miles is a long walk. I need to stay off my front leg for a while, but the night’s getting colder. Too cold for skin. Trouble is we need to reach Herdon before dawn if we’re going to find out what happened when the coaches went through. I’m trained to get in and out of town with no one knowing, but it works better in the dark. I’m a little obvious in the daylight.”

“All right. How long will it take us to reach Herdon?”

Tomas had no idea what
all right
referred to, but she wasn’t laughing at his stupid timber babbling, so he supposed it didn’t matter. “At this speed, three or maybe four hours.”

She was silent for so long Tomas was unsure if she was thinking or despairing.

“I have a blanket and a knife. If we cut a hole in it for your head, and you wore it, would that keep you warm enough?”

Thinking, then. Muscles he hadn’t realized were tense relaxed. He’d made the right choice. As for her suggestion…“It should.” The Hunt Pack had done winter training up in the mountains, just fur, no greatcoats, and one shitload of snow. Three or four hours in skin on a spring night would be no problem as long as they kept moving. He stopped walking as Mirian dropped to one knee and let the bedroll slide off her shoulder. It took her a minute to get her…Tomas frowned…her stocking untied, then she unrolled it and set the contents aside. Her boots, a folding knife, a fire-starter, a telescope, the pouch that smelled of meat and biscuits…

“Where did you get all that?”

“I took it from the soldier I killed.”

“You killed?”

“While you were running at the other one, I set a fire in his ammo pouch like you suggested. He went up like…” She waved a hand, unable to find a comparison or unwilling to voice those she’d found. Her fingers were trembling. “He was dead so, logically, he wouldn’t need any of this anymore. There’s a purse with a bit of money, too.”

“The other soldier…”

“One,” she snapped, “was enough. He was dead and I killed him, but the other one wasn’t my…I mean, I didn’t…I couldn’t…” She wiped her nose on her sleeve then tried to open the knife.

“Here,” Tomas knelt beside her. “Let me.”

She shoved it into his hand and when he glanced over at her face, her eyes were shut and he could smell the salt tang of tears.

“We’re at war,” he said quietly, hooking his thumbnail in the grooved steel edge and forcing the blade out. “He was a soldier. Soldiers die in wars.” He cut a slit in the center of the blanket, hearing Harry reminding him to be careful. Hearing Danika telling Ryder to return safely and soon. “Soldiers kill in wars.”

“I’m not a soldier.” Her eyes were open now, pale and free of mage marks. “I’m not an anything.”

He pulled the blanket over his head, the scent of the man who’d slept in it lingering long after the man himself. There might have been a slight scent of char; it might have been his imagination. When he could see again, Mirian had unbuckled her belt and was in the process of hanging her boots and the pouch from it. She’d lost the bedroll, but her hands would be still be free. Smart. “Then why are you here? If you’re not an anything,” he added when she looked confused.

“Because someone has to be.” She hung the telescope around her neck and tucked it inside her jacket, stared at the fire-starter then slipped it into a boot. The knife followed when Tomas handed it back. “And I’m all there is.”

“
We’re
all there is.”

She looked at him for a long moment. He could see her clearly, but he had no idea of how much of his expression she could make out even given how close they were. Enough, apparently. She took a deep breath and smiled—mostly smiled, partially bared her teeth. “We’re all there is.”

As she reached for one stocking, he reached for the other. “May I?” She nodded and he wrapped it around his waist, cinching the back of the blanket tight around his body, leaving the front loose enough to tuck his arms inside if he needed. Then he stood and held out a hand.

She needed more of his help to stand than she’d be comfortable admitting. Or maybe not, he reminded himself; she was sensible. Her skirt came to just above her ankles, her feet more obvious bare than they had been in boots. He could smell blood, but she hadn’t mentioned an injury, so he wouldn’t bring it up. Her jacket fit
loosely—ease of removal dominated Aydori fashions. Anything under her skirt and jacket, he had little experience with, but it seemed a reasonable outfit for tromping around the countryside. It smelled of mud, and ash, and crushed plants, and sweat, and girl.

“What? You’re looking at me like it’s the first time you’ve seen me.”

It was, in a way. They hadn’t been Pack before. He shrugged, not wanting to admit to more than she could work out on her own.

She shook her head, then forced her fingers through her hair and used the other stocking to tie it back. When she caught him staring, she almost smiled a true smile with no aggression in it. “I know what you’re thinking; it was in a boot for two days and even I can smell it. But it’s better than having hair fall in my face all night.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking.”

“Then what?”

He shrugged again, knowing that if he said
sensible,
she’d misunderstand. Knowing he couldn’t explain and that at some point, according to both Harry and Ryder, girls wanted to hear more than,
“You smell amazing.”

After a moment, when she finally realized that was all the answer she was going to get, she rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, and started walking. “Three to four hours to Herdon? All right, let’s do it in three.”

What wind there was came from the northwest, so he fell into step upwind behind her left shoulder. The blanket rubbed a bit, not in a good way, and that helped. He wondered if she was going to talk now they were only walking not charging along the border. His limited experience with young ladies of quality, at least those he wasn’t closely related to, had involved rather a lot of staring over teacups and inane conversations about the weather.

Mirian Maylin walked—limped—as quickly as she could and said nothing at all.

So Tomas said nothing as well for about an hour until he picked up a scent he couldn’t ignore. “Wait. Someone died here.”

“Here?”

“Right there.” Wrapping a hand around her elbow, he tugged her back two paces, and dropped to one knee. The dirt was still damp, the pattern complicated under the bootprints. Tomas could smell blood and guts and horses and steel. “I think he was run over by a
coach wheel. More than once.” Rising, he moved forward slowly, following his nose. “They stopped the coaches here. Everyone got out. Stina Menkyzck here.” He ran forward. “Jesine and Annalyse Berin here.” Further. “Danika and Kirstin Yervick here.” He moved off the road to a rough circle where the grass had been crushed under boots. “They gathered together here.” Their scents would be easier to separate from the Imperials if he changed, but none of the women were strangers. “Geoffrey Berin was Hunt Pack. Colonel Menkyzck was a senior officer. The Hunt Pack…”

“I know. I was at the reception when you arrived.”

“Ryder sent Sirlin and Neils Yervick to the front with the 2nd.” Sirlin was a Hagen. Another cousin. He was years older than Jesine, but they were stupidly in love. Jesine had laughed at the age difference and said Healer-mages were always more mature. She was beautiful and Tomas had been a bit in love with her himself.

Mirian had stayed where he’d put her. She was watching him, but he had no idea how well she could see in the dark. “Are they all right?” she asked softly. “No, stupid question; widowed and kidnapped, of course they’re not all right. Are they hurt?”

“They’re all walking. They’re not dripping blood.” He wanted to howl. “Other than that…”

“They’re all walking.” She held out her hand and he went to it, her scent stronger than the lingering evidence his brother’s wife and baby lived. “Let’s go get them.”

Mirian had no idea how long it had been when Tomas stretched an arm out in front of her; it felt like she’d been walking for her entire life. She hoped he had a good reason to stop her because she wasn’t entirely certain she could start moving again.

“We’re at the edge of the mill property,” he said quietly, bending close to her ear. “It smells like the mill’s still running in spite of the war. Not surprising, since the duke sold a lot of his high-end lumber to the empire. Ryder says that’s why he wanted our oak and…”

Tomas stopped talking when Mirian turned to face him, their mouths suddenly so close together she could feel his breath on her lips. “I appreciate the depth of your knowledge…” She did. It was a lot more interesting than fashions or her mother’s nerves or who
had recently gotten married to whom, but would, unfortunately, have been as out of place in a drawing room as it was in the middle of the night outside a small town in the recently conquered Duchy of Pyrahn. “…but why have we stopped?”

“What?”

His lower lip was slightly chapped. She hadn’t noticed that before. “You stopped me.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Has someone else died?”