AutumnQuest (11 page)

The next day, we left the woods behind. At first, it felt uncomfortable out in the open. There we were for anyone who looked to see. The traveling was harder than it had been in the woods. There, we’d been able to follow paths; now we had to move much more carefully, watching our step on the uneven ground and often stopping to pull burrs from our clothes. I scanned the horizon, hoping we’d come across another wood before long.

Another oppressing thought was that we were losing precious time. Surely they’d taken Breyard to Penwick by horse or wagon, and he’d be there by now. And here I was, tramping north towards Crowthorne.

The futility of it all brought me to a stop. Traz walked on a few steps before he realized that I wasn’t keeping up, then he turned back. It looked as if he’d meant to tease me for falling behind, but then the expression on his face changed to one of concern. “Donavah? Are you all right?” he asked as he came back to me. “What’s wrong?”

I brushed away a tear in exasperation. Traz reached up and wiped another tear off my cheek.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said. “You just wait and see. I promise.” He was so emphatic I couldn’t help but smile. “It always comes out right in the old tales.”

We made our way across the countryside. After a lunch of leftover bread and cheese from the day before, we saw a dark line cutting across the land ahead.

“A river?” I asked.

Traz thought for a moment, as if picturing a map in his mind, then nodded. “I think so. It must be the River Kreef.”

“Maybe we could spend the night there, under the cover of the trees?”

“Depends. It might be too early to stop.”

By now, it didn’t surprise me when Traz turned out to be right. We reached the river by midafternoon. As we approached, the foliage we walked through became taller, thicker, and more lush, thanks to the nearby source of water. We were under the trees—mostly alders and willows—that grew along the riverway and we still couldn’t hear the rush of water. That should have tipped us off. I had a passing thought that maybe the river was dry after the long, hot Summer. Neither of us were prepared for the wide expanse of water we found in front of us when we finally scrambled through the heavy underbrush to the riverbank. Xyla let out a funny squeal and immediately flew out over the water, diving down and coming up a moment later with a large fish wriggling in her talons.

Traz and I stared at each other. How were we going to get across this? I didn’t want to admit it to him, but I was terrified of deep water and had never learned to swim. Luckily for me, he didn’t even suggest it.

“We could build a raft,” he started to say.

“That would take too long,” I interrupted. Even crossing on a makeshift raft was a frightening idea. I turned to the dragon, who’d landed nearby and was gobbling down the last of her fish. “Xyla, can you see if there’s a ford nearby?” I pictured Traz and me crossing over on stones to make sure she understood.

“Fish tastes good,” came her reply. “Easy to eat.”

“You can fish all you want a little later. Can’t you please do this first?”

She gave me a baleful stare, then winked an eye, flicked her tail, and took to the air.

After awhile she returned with another fish clutched in her talons and the unwelcome news that upriver there was nowhere for us to cross. She went the other way, only to come back a few minutes later saying that the bridge for the road would be the only place. I told Traz.

“Then we’ll just have to chance it,” he said. A slight frown belied his nonchalant tone of voice.

“At least we won’t have to be on the road for long—just long enough to cross the bridge,” I said, trying to go along with Traz’s charade. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Traz and I plodded along the riverbank while Xyla cavorted in the water in her newfound sport of swimming. I couldn’t help laughing aloud at her antics, especially her trick of submerging herself completely and snorting air out her nostrils to make twin water fountains. But once we caught sight of the bridge, I told her to go hide in the trees on the other side until Traz and I met up with her again. She burst from the water into the air with two more fish, and, at my stern warning that anyone on the bridge could see her, finally hid herself.

We drew close to the road, and I got an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Could it be a maejic warning, or was it just my own fear? I told myself I was being ridiculous—what were the chances we’d meet anyone, much less someone who would prove to be a threat?

Unfortunately, we couldn’t see far down the approaching road, nor could we see over the curve of the bridge itself, so there was no way to know for sure if anyone was coming . . . in either direction. I wished I’d thought to ask Xyla to check. Too late now. If anyone
was
there, I didn’t want her to be seen.

Traz seemed have caught some of my apprehension. “Let’s just run for it,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “If anyone sees us, that’ll look suspicious. We’ll walk fast.”

And after one more glance in both directions, we stepped out of the cover of the trees and hastened along. I kept imagining I heard footsteps, but whenever I looked back, there was nothing. As we reached the apex of the bridge, I half-expected to find a row of Royal Guardsmen blocking our path, but again there was nothing. I quickened my steps almost to a jog, looking longingly at the trees along the far bank of the river. Just a few more moments and we’d be safe.

Then hoof beats clattered on the bridge behind us. I held my breath, hoping it was only my imagination or the beating of my heart. No, I could also hear laughter and the jangling of metal.

“Quick, Donavah, run and hide,” Traz hissed. “I’ll stay on the road so at least there’s someone here, you know, in case they saw us.” He didn’t have to suggest it twice. I sped into the cover of the underbrush and tried to take slow, quiet breaths as the riders came into view. The Royal Guard! The countryside must have been crawling with them. Or else we were the unluckiest people alive.

I crouched down behind a thick shrub and watched Traz. He seemed to have turned into a totally different person. He kicked up dust as he dawdled off the bridge and onto the road, whistling tunelessly and swinging his pack as if it weighed nothing. Suddenly, he dashed to the far side and rummaged in the tall grass for something.

“Hey, you!” shouted one of the Guardsmen, coming to a halt and motioning the other two to do likewise. Traz ignored them, or seemed to at any rate, but I saw his shoulder muscles tighten. “Boy!”

I sucked in my breath. It was the same Guardsman who’d captured me in the woods! A boulder of fear settled in my stomach, and my thoughts spun. The Guardsman’s horse put back its ears. I realized I’d better control myself. It would be the ultimate irony if this unwanted maejic gave my presence away.

Traz snatched at something on the ground and stood up straight, a wide grin on his face. He turned to face the soldiers, who were all scowling down at him. “Pretty, pretty,” he said, slurring his words a little. Then his eyes widened and his mouth made a small “o” as if he’d only just become aware of the others. One of the horses snorted.

“Where’s your friend?” demanded the Guardsman. My heart leapt to my throat. They’d seen me, too!

“Horsey pretty. Nice horsey.”

“I asked you where your friend is.” I shivered at the man’s ugly tone.

Traz hunched his shoulders and glanced around, a look of fright on his face. “Friend? No friends.” And he winced. Despite my fear, I couldn’t help smiling at his dissembling.

“I saw someone else.” Mentally, I tried to urge Traz to go carefully.

Tears welled up in his eyes. “No friends.”

“Search the trees!” snapped the Guardsman.

The Royal Guard has a long history as a highly respected, elite corps responsible for protecting the king, his family, and his royal residences. To be assigned to the palace at Alloway is the penultimate honour for a Royal Guardsman, and duty as a member of the king’s Personal Guard the highest.

The captain of the king’s Personal Guard sits in the King’s Council, though he has no vote. And while kings have no obligation to follow the captain’s advice, they often seek it. After all, a military perspective can provide a valuable counterpoint to a political one.

For example, Bellius, captain of the Personal Guard of King Frow, Seventeenth Absolute Monarch, counselled him to abandon a plan to attack Ultria. Captain Bellius had received intelligence that the Ultrian army had secretly built up its defences in the Martemont Mountains.

Enraged that his captain would thwart his purposes, King Frow determined to execute the man the very next day. In the morning, Captain Bellius, having set his affairs in order and bid a final, sad farewell to his wife and young children, presented himself at the throne. Much to his surprise, King Frow embraced him, raised him up, and pinned a golden rose on his breast: the highest military honour the king can bestow.

~From
The Book of Lore

I stopped smiling. I wanted to run but knew I must stay frozen. Any movement on my part would draw their attention. If the beating of my heart didn’t.

“Aw, c’mon,” said one of the other men, “he’s just a stupid half-wit. I didn’t see no one. Did you?”

The third one shook his head. “It’uz probably just that bag he’uz swinging around.”

“No friends,” Traz said yet again as he broke into heart-wrenching sobs.

“Let’s just move on. If we keep moving we can make the next town in time for a hot supper with our ale.”

The first Guardsman’s horse stamped as if it, too, were impatient to move on. Or as if it sensed me. I tried to freeze my thoughts.

The Guardsman himself peered into the trees first on one side of the road and then on the other. “All right,” he finally growled. “But you, you stupid brat,” he snatched his riding crop and in less than the blink of an eye brought it down on Traz’s upturned face, “you get yourself back to whatever hole you crawled out of.” He raised his crop to strike again, but Traz had fallen to the ground covering his face with his hands. It took every bit of self-discipline I had to keep from dashing to Traz’s aid. “Move out!”

And with that, the three Guardsmen took off at a gallop.

Traz crept towards my hiding place, and I wordlessly coaxed him to hurry. I wanted to rush out and help him, but I was afraid the Guardsmen might look back.

Finally Traz got to the cover of the trees, and I went to him and helped him to his feet. He kept a hand on his cheek, and I knew that the tears that now stood in his eyes were real.

Still worried that we might be spied on, I put a finger to my lips, then pointed farther in. Once I knew we weren’t being followed, I’d tend to his injury.

Soon we met with Xyla charging towards us through the trees.

“You are distressed,” she said, the worry plain in her tone.

“I’ll explain later. Can you tell if anyone is following us?”

She cocked her head, and I wondered whether she used her ears or some other sense.

“Three horses with riders gallop in the distance.”

I let out a loud sigh of relief, then berated myself again for not having thought of asking Xyla to check for people nearby before we crossed the bridge. If I had, Traz wouldn’t have gotten hurt. “Let me see it,” I said to him.

He pulled his hand away. “No blood,” was my first observation.

“You sure? It feels like my face is turned inside out.”

“I can imagine it does. That’s quite a welt, though. Let’s try to cool it off a bit.”

We went down to the river, where I found a smooth stone chilled by the running water. I handed it to Traz, telling him to hold it to his cheek.

“Ow! Ouch! Ahhh,” he said as the stone quickly cooled the sting.

“You just sit quietly while I make a poultice. I think I’ve got all the right herbs with me.”

I needed to steep the herbs in hot water, but making a fire didn’t seem to be such a good idea; the smoke might have been seen by unfriendly eyes. But Xyla had said they were going the other way, so I decided to chance it.

Xyla generously caught fish for our supper, and once I’d made the poultice, I threw together a fish stew. Some potatoes or roots would have been nice, but I didn’t feel like searching for something I wasn’t likely to find anyway.

While the stew simmered, I checked on Traz. The swelling had gone down a bit, but the welt was like a red gash from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“You’re lucky he missed your eye,” I said. “I don’t have the skill to deal with that.” Traz just stared at me in horror. “But as it is, I think your good looks will survive.” I hoped I wasn’t lying.

When supper was ready, I dished it out. Xyla was intrigued so I gave her some to try, but after one bite she snorted in disgust and went back to the river to catch herself another fresh fish. Traz laughed, then winced.

“Gotta remember to keep a straight face for awhile,” he said, then took a bite of stew. “Hey, you’re not a bad cook. This is pretty good.”

“Oh, thanks. Is that some pathetic attempt to get out of washing up?”

“Aw, c’mon, Donavah, you know it wasn’t.”

I grinned at him. “I know. But it worked. I’ll do it. You deserve a night off after that acting job you pulled off.”

“I
was
pretty good, wasn’t I?”

“Modest, too. Well, you
were
good, right up to the end.”

“If this is how a troubadour gets paid, I think I’ll pass.”

I laughed. The rest of the evening passed in quiet companionship. I made another poultice for Traz, which he complained about until I told him if he didn’t use it, he’d be sure to end up with a nasty red scar. When he finally lay down to sleep, Xyla curled up with him.

In the morning the welt didn’t look quite so bad, and I congratulated myself as we got moving again.

The days ran into each other, and it began to feel as if we’d always been walking, always been watchful, always been afraid of being discovered. Finally, we approached the large town of Crowthorne. As we drew closer, I could see grey smoke rising into the sky from the many chimneys.

We stopped for lunch, and Traz asked me what the plan was now that we were here.

I had no idea. I sat in silence, munching obliviously on something. In all the rush of getting back to the forest to find Xyla, I hadn’t thought to ask Oleeda how I was supposed to find a hidden community of mages. I couldn’t tell Traz that that’s what we were looking for, nor could I march into the market square and ask someone to point me in the right direction.

“Hey, Donavah,” Traz said, waving a hand right in front of my face.

I blinked and shook my head, wondering what I’d missed. “Sorry. I’m not sure just where we’re supposed to go.”

“I know where,” said Xyla.

I looked at her, startled. “You know where to go? How could you?”

“Vibrations. They are calling me.”

“What?” For some reason I couldn’t explain, it irritated me that she made it sound so simple.

“Trust. And follow.”

Unable to hear us, Traz sat watching us frowning.

“Well,” I said to him, “she says she knows where to go. She says to follow.”

He gave a little half-smile. He’d been doing that ever since his face was injured. The red mark had started to fade, but only a little. “Then let’s go.”

We skirted the town. We had to cross some fields, and since harvest was past, I hoped we wouldn’t be noticed by the farmers. Straight on east, we soon came to a pine forest. Xyla went right in, not bothered about looking for a path. We had no choice but to keep following. “Almost there,” she said.

When we first entered the woods, the undergrowth had been relatively sparse. But all of a sudden, a seemingly impenetrable wall of bushes and shrubs loomed ahead of us. It had a smoky appearance, almost as if it weren’t quite real. Xyla dived straight in, and I pressed on behind her, Traz at my heels.

The thick foliage seemed to be more like water than vegetation. It gave way before my hands, and where I’d expected to be poked and stuck by brambles, thistles, and thorns, instead it was like walking through a silent waterfall.

Once through, I came to an abrupt halt, and Traz stumbled into me as he cleared the strange hedge. A clearing stood before us, sunlight brightening the thatch roof of a large white cottage. The front door opened.

Out came a man dressed in a grey robe similar to what I’d worn back at Roylinn, but somehow it seemed to shimmer. He had long, white-blond hair that fell loose, almost to his waist. He was clean shaven, like all the other masters, and his jaw jutted out as if he were annoyed about something. He took several steps, then crossed his arms on his chest.

“It took you long enough,” he growled.

When he first opened his mouth to speak, I’d expected a deep, melodious voice in keeping with his appearance. Instead, it was rough and gravelly, as if he seldom used it or had been coughing a lot lately. He gestured impatiently for us to come nearer.

Traz and I looked at each other. He shrugged and stepped forward, and I followed him. Xyla gave a half-flap of her wings and landed right in front of the man, who cocked one eyebrow. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so nervous.

“I have been waiting for you,” he said, then cleared his throat. When he went on, I didn’t notice any improvement. “Oleeda’s message bird arrived more than a week ago. And it is only now that you come dragging in, and with unexpected rabble, no less.”

Traz scowled and straightened his shoulders, the red line of the welt standing out even more than usual.

The man continued speaking, without giving either of us a chance to say anything. “Well, come in with yourselves.” I wondered whether he meant Xyla, too. He didn’t object when she flipped her wings back and followed him inside. Traz and I bumped shoulders trying to walk through the doorway, and he grinned at me sheepishly as he stepped back to let me go first.

A low fire burned in the fireplace, and a ginger tabby cat lay curled on the hearth, basking in the warmth given off by the smouldering coals. It looked up at me, blinked slowly once, then went back to sleep. A pot hung over the fire, and a rich smell of herbed stew and fresh bread filled the room, making my stomach growl.

The man must have heard, because he chuckled, if that’s what the rumbly sound coming from his direction was. Within moments, three bowls sat on a finely crafted wood table, along with a steaming loaf of bread and a dish of butter. The man filled the bowls with the savory stew and motioned for us to sit.

The food was delicious only as it can be when you’ve lived on travel rations for awhile. I had two bowls, Traz had three, and between the two of us, we devoured the whole loaf. The man ate without speaking, watching us with blue-green eyes that reminded me of ice. It wasn’t until after I’d wiped all the traces of the gravy out of my bowl with my last bit of bread that I began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

Finally, even Traz seemed to be full. The man leaned back, a hand resting casually on Xyla’s head. She just sat there gazing at him. I wondered what she perceived that I couldn’t. She acted like a puppy with a much-loved master, even though she’d never met him before. It made me feel awkward and out of place.

“Yallick,” the man said. I must have looked as confused as Traz, because he then snapped, “My name. I am Yallick.”