He looked up. "Well. I think I've talked at you enough. You should get some sleep – like your friend there."
I glanced at Alvantes, still snoring sonorously. It didn't seem the time to explain how far he was from being my friend. "Goodnight," I said.
I watched as Huero walked to the barn doors and pushed through them. The space was spinning very gently. The warmth of the rice liquor seemed to have permeated my entire body. I stood – and was surprised. As I crossed to the double doors, I had no conscious idea of what I was about to do. Even as I stepped into the cool night air, my brain was in complete denial of my actions, as though observing from a great distance.
I caught up to Huero halfway between barn and house. He looked at me in surprise.
"You should take this," I said. I clasped his hand.
He looked at his palm and then at me, and there was nothing in his face but bewilderment.
"To feed the giants. When Saltlick talks them into going home, take whatever you need to get your farm back. If there's anything after that, you can give me it back when I'm next through here."
"This is…"
"You'll need to get it changed somewhere."
"But…"
"One more thing. Can you keep an eye on Saltlick? He can talk fairly well now. He could translate if you need him to. He's more sensitive than he lets on – a few compliments go a long way. He's fond of children."
Huero nodded, without his eyes ever leaving the golden disk in his hand. "We'll look after them all," he said. "Far better than we've been able to, with this." Finally, he managed to tear his eyes from the coin. "Thank you," he said.
"It's just money," I told him. "Goodnight."
I woke, bleary-eyed and thick-skulled, to another overcast dawn and a vague sense of horror.
What had I done?
I tried to think about the coin – the coin I'd so impulsively given away, the coin that had been the one remaining hope for my future. I couldn't. It was a cavity in my mind. Whenever my thoughts came close to it, they vanished. It was the same when I tried to ask myself what happened next. Was I really about to go with Alvantes? Alvantes who hated me, who I despised in return? If I didn't, what option did I have? Every question was like a sinkhole. My thoughts fell into it and nothing came back.
If Huero had come out then, I might have told him I'd made a terrible mistake. If Alvantes had asked whether I still planned to go with him, I might have said no. Neither thing happened. We packed our bedding, saddled up and rode into cold morning drizzle.
Saltlick was already about when we reached the hillside, and deep in a one-sided conversation with one of his brethren. I couldn't help noticing that it wasn't the former chieftain this time. He gave up when he saw us and ambled down the hillside.
When he drew near, I said, "I suppose this is goodbye, then. I know you have to stay and talk some sense into your friends."
Saltlick struggled against his limited vocabulary for a suitable reply. After much obvious thought, he settled on a booming, "Easie friend."
I managed a half-hearted grin. "Saltlick friend too."
It was true – and perhaps I hadn't entirely realised it until then. I'd grown used to the clomp of his footsteps beside me, the tectonic grind of his jaw as he ate, his impossible, indefatigable good-naturedness. It struck me with the sudden jolt of an unexpected blow – I would miss him.
"I don't expect we'll see you when we come back this way," I told him. "You'll have convinced the other giants and you'll all have gone home together. Perhaps, though, some day… I mean, if I happened to have nothing better to do… I could come visit you?"
Saltlick beamed. "Easie visit," he agreed.
I could see Alvantes was getting impatient. Maybe Saltlick noticed too, for he chose that moment to reach down and offer me his hand. I let him clamp it around mine and we shook.
"Take care of yourself," I said. "Good luck."
Riding away, I fought the urge to look back. I managed well enough for a couple of minutes, and then allowed myself a glance over one shoulder. Sure enough, Saltlick was waiting where we'd left him. He grinned and waved.
I returned the wave; I couldn't quite manage the grin.
I would have been hard pressed to think of a single moment I'd enjoyed since I'd stolen the giant-stone from Moaradrid. My escapades with Saltlick and Estrada had seemed an unremitting nightmare at the time. Yet the knowledge that they were over, that we'd never travel together again, left me with a sense of emptiness.
What made it worse was the thought of who I still travelled with – a man who made no secret of loathing me, who until recently had wanted nothing more than to see my head on a chopping block.
Estrada was gone. Saltlick was gone. Now it was just Alvantes and me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Though the ground to our right rose quickly into overgrown hillside, the road ran straight and uninterrupted and the land beside the Casto Mara remained more or less level. For the entire rest of the day I could see Aspira Nero as a streak of grey crawling shallowly from the wide-flowing river at its base to the outcrop of mountainside that marked its highest extreme.
There was little else to see there at the northern tip of the Castoval. The slopes were too stony and uneven for farming, and settlements were few and far between. Occasionally I'd catch a glimpse of the Casto Vidora, the river that flowed from the western mountains to merge its turbulent waters with the Casto Mara. Mostly, though, I was left with the walls of Aspira Nero and my own deliberations to keep me amused.
Neither was remotely up to the task. The view was tedious, and my thoughts insisted on tormenting me with questions I had no way to answer.
Like,
What happens now?
What do you think there is here for you?
And last but far from least,
How much of a dung-brained moron would you have to be to give away all your gold?
I tried to concentrate on Aspira Nero. Not only was it still dull, it served to remind me how desperate my circumstances had become. Minute by minute, I was drawing nearer to the edge of the world I knew.
The northernmost wall of Aspira Nero and the Casto Vidora joining the far bank were the absolute limits of the Castoval. Beyond was Ans Pasaeda and eventually, far to the north, the royal city of Pasaeda itself. But Aspira Nero belonged to neither north nor south. Defined by its location, it was a gateway and a melting pot, wedged between two very different nations.
Its grand walls, however, were mostly for show. They certainly hadn't done much to keep Moaradrid from tramping his armies through here. In fact, all he'd have needed to do was knock – for unlike even the smallest of the other towns, Aspira Nero had no garrison of defenders. Had there been troops here, the Castovalians would have considered them northern, the Ans Pasaedans as Castovalian. There
were
guardsmen, but they served no role in the town's protection, focusing all their energies on policing the streets instead. For all its unpredictable mingling of cultures and despite its labyrinthine streets, crime was practically unheard of in Aspira Nero.
In short, it was a depressing place, and I'd never wasted much time there.
Alvantes, of course, had no way of knowing that. When we were still a short distance away, he asked abruptly, "Are you wanted here?"
"What?" I said. "How would I know? No one sent me an invite if that's what you mean."
"I
mean
, have you committed any significant crimes that are likely to get you arrested on sight?"
"Oh. Not that I remember."
I'd never stolen anything bigger than an apricot in Aspira Nero, but I wasn't giving Alvantes the satisfaction of a straight answer.
He rode forward, dismounted, rapped hard on a smaller door set into the main gate and called, "Two travellers seeking ingress. I'm Guard-Captain Alvantes of Altapasaeda, and my companion is Easie Damasco."
I was a little disappointed when rather than shouts of, "Not Easie Damasco, the notorious thief and outlaw?" we were met with a disgruntled, "Hold your horses, damn it!"
A minute later, the door swung inward. A squat man in plain leather armour and conical helmet stood in the entrance. "Couldn't you have got here before we shut the main gate?" he complained.
"Evidently not," replied Alvantes.
The guard had sense enough to read his tone correctly. "Right. Evidently." He stepped out of the way. "Welcome to Aspira Nero. Portal between north and south and all that."
Dismounting, Alvantes led his horse through the gap, and I followed.
The narrow street beyond ran crookedly, somewhat up hill. The buildings had little of the Castovalian in their design. Like the walls, they were built from stone quarried in the mountainside behind, over two and even three storeys. Each seemed supported by its neighbours, giving the unsettling impression that if any one should collapse, the entire town would come tumbling down. The bare stone was harsh and unwelcoming, just as the few locals to note our arrival did so without a hint of friendliness.
I hoped Alvantes's local knowledge was better than mine was. "So what's the plan?" I asked. "I tell you, another day of riding will be the end of me."
"Damasco," he said, not turning. "It's time we talked. Or rather… it's time I talked and you listened."
"I'm not sure I like the sound of that."
"There's an inn I know nearby," he continued as though I'd never spoken.
There was an edge to his tone that brooked no argument. Instead, I trailed after him, down first one and then another twisting side street. From there, we turned into the yard of an inn named the
Fourth Orphan.
Alvantes called out a stable boy to take our horses, passed him a coin, and led on into the taproom.
It was clean but gloomy, full of purposefully dark corners. The handful of patrons stopped their conversations to watch our entrance with a little too much interest. In general, it struck me as more the kind of establishment I'd frequent than somewhere I'd expect to find Alvantes.
Still, it was clear he knew his way around. Pointing out an isolated table towards the back, he said, "Sit down."
I did as I was told, tucking myself into one of two opposing benches that shared a low table. A minute later, Alvantes eased onto the opposite bench, placed a cup of wine before me. Not much caring that he'd bought nothing for himself, I took an eager sip. It was headier and sweeter than any Castovalian wine I'd tasted, perhaps a vintage from across the border.
"So," I said, "this is pleasant. But perhaps it's time you got out what's on your mind."
"Damasco. I've never made any pretence of liking you."
"You haven't. No one could ever accuse you of pretence."
"However, I did agree to civility. I want you to understand, therefore, that this is not intended as an attack. It's simple fact, and it requires saying."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Alvantes leaned forward, single palm flat on the table. "Some days ago, I made two promises to Marina. The first was to make certain Saltlick was reunited with his people. The second was that I'd allow you to accompany me for so long as you wanted. For reasons I don't begin to understand, Marina thinks my company will do you good."
"She knows how you make me laugh," I tried.
"The fact is, I don't trust you or your motives. Frankly, I'd hoped you'd have taken the hint by now and found some other way in which to occupy yourself. I don't know what the current situation in Ans Pasaeda is, but if anything should happen there, I won't be able to protect you. Nor would I try. I won't break my promise to Marina by forbidding you to continue, but I will say this: you aren't welcome, Damasco."
I was taken aback. No witty rejoinder came to mind. It wasn't that I didn't expect bluntness from Alvantes, but in the past, it had always arrived in small and easily dismissed doses.
The worst of it was, I knew he was right. I could admit a certain fondness for Saltlick, even Estrada I'd grown to tolerate – but they were gone, and who knew if I'd see them again. What could be more pitiful than trying to imitate my time with them by following after Alvantes like some starved puppy?
"Look," he said – and I was appalled to hear a note to his voice not entirely removed from sympathy – "I understand that on some level you may occasionally mean well. Maybe you're even serious in these infrequent, half-hearted attempts at repentance. My advice, for whatever it's worth, is that you take some time to think over your next move. I need to gather information before I cross the border, and I can't do it with you there. Why don't you take the night to consider? If you really feel the need to accompany me, I'll be leaving at dawn."
I felt empty – as though Alvantes's words had hollowed me from head to toe. I could tolerate many things from the man, but pity? "There's nothing to consider," I said. "I didn't want to tell you this, but Estrada asked me to look after you too. 'He's been acting so strangely since Moaradrid made him a cripple,' she told me. 'With that and failing to protect the Prince, I'm not sure he can cope without someone looking over his shoulder.'"
Alvantes jerked towards me. My cup sloshed its contents over the table, rolled to shatter on the floor. "You're lying."
"I told her I'd do my best. But I won't go anywhere I'm not wanted."
Alvantes gave a brief, bitter laugh. "You've spent your entire life going where you're not wanted."
"Well, no more. Find another nursemaid, Alvantes."
I stood up. My knees felt mushy, my legs were shaking – with both anger and fear, for the look on Alvantes's face was one of barely held rage. With all the calm I could muster, I marched towards the door. At the last moment, I slammed a twelfth-onyx down before the serving girl and said, "That's for the broken cup. You'll have to excuse my friend, his handicap makes him clumsy."