“Strangers. Pah!” said a short woman and spat on the ground. “They had naught to do with us, nor we with them.”
“Not their slaves, not their vile metal beasts,” added another man. He too spat, the spittle landing an inch from Peachblossom’s right front hoof. The gelding regarded the man with one large, brown eye.
“And you didn’t think to warn anyone?” Kel asked, struggling to breathe normally.
“Not our look-out,” replied the man who seemed to be in charge. “We do business with all up here, whoever they be. It’s the only way to live, on the border.” He looked at Neal. “Not one of the Whisper Man’s, is she?”
Kel raised her eyebrows. What was a Whisper Man? Despite her curiosity, she remained silent. When negotiating with possible enemies, her people had to show they were united and sure of their loyalties. She would ask Neal about the Whisper Man later.
“No,” replied Neal to the stranger’s question, “but she’s all right. You don’t want to get on her bad side.”
Kel wanted to roll her eyes at his extravagant claim, but didn’t. Neal was in charge here. Instead, she tried to appear stern and imposing, and hoped she looked like something other than a complete stick. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the man who had spat near Peachblossom. He sidled closer to the big gelding and Tobe, his eyes on the reins.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Tobe remarked to him in Common. “He’s smarter than he looks.”
The man reached anyway. Peachblossom whipped his head around and grabbed the man’s outstretched forearm, big teeth closing on cloth and flesh.
“Peachblossom, let go,” Kel ordered in Common. In Scanran she told the man, “He’s not for sale or for stealing. He’ll kill you. He’s killed men before, he doesn’t seem to find it difficult.”
Peachblossom released the man after a wait to show Kel he didn’t take orders. He then spat foam on to the man’s shirtfront. The man backed away, grimacing as he tried to wipe gooey green saliva from his clothes.
Kel looked at Neal. “We’re wasting time,” she told him.
“We’re here to do business, coming and going,” Neal said to the smugglers’ leader. “Us and our friends back there.”
A loose feather in Kel’s band tickled her nose. In a moment she would sneeze. “Grandmother, come out from behind your veils,” she suggested, looking straight at the old woman. “It’s uncomfortable, pretending you aren’t there.”
Cackling amusement, the old lady shed her magical concealments with slow flicks of knobby fingers. Neal and Tobe started when she seemed to appear from the wood of the palisade. “Now, there’s a toy I wouldn’t mind having,” she said, pointing to Kel’s griffin-feather band.
“It has its uses,” Kel replied. She pushed the band higher, where it was less likely to drop over her eyes. The errant feather she pulled free and offered it to the old woman. “A good-faith gift, Grandmother;” she said.
The mage lurched forward and accepted the feather. “A useful thing,” she remarked, turning it over. “Amazing how many folk try to lie to those who are just trying to survive in a cruel land.”
Neal and the leader had embarked on a harsh, whispered argument. Kel and the old woman looked at them as the leader said, “Out of my mind! I don’t care if you are from the Whisper Man, I know trouble when it rides up on warhorses!”
Neal reached into his belt-purse and drew coins from it. He held up three gold nobles.
“Not if it was a thousand gold!” snapped the leader. “You think I’m blind? Your lot is plain dangerous, and I won’t risk my people!”
Neal produced two more gold nobles. Kel resolved to pay him back somehow. Perhaps it was time to sell some griffin feathers.
“I’m not trying to drive up the price,” the man growled.
“Do it,” said the old mage abruptly. The leader - there was enough resemblance that Kel thought they might be mother and son - glared down into the old woman’s faded blue eyes. “The hand of fate is on them. On her.” She pointed to Kel and ordered, “Bring your people inside the walls till moonrise.”
“Mother,” protested the leader, “just look at them!”
“I did,” retorted the old woman. “Maybe you should look harder.” She turned and hobbled back through the gates.
The leader sighed and looked at his companions. They shrugged as one.
“Call your people in,” he told Neal, exasperated. “The Whisper Man owes us large for this.”
Neal turned and waved the others forward, down off the ridge. Kel and Tobe followed the smugglers inside.
It was the slowest evening of Kel’s life. From the signs left by the river, their quarry was only half a day ahead, but here was another delay. In her mind she understood the smugglers’ need for caution, but her heart shrieked that every moment the enemy stayed ahead of her was a moment when someone else might die. She paced until she realized all of the smugglers watched her nervously, hands on weapons. Then she went outside into the soft night air.
The old mage stood at the half-open gate, staring blindly at the clearing before her. Kel hesitated, not sure if she ought to distract the woman.
“You’re better mannered than most nobles,” the old woman remarked without turning her head. “Not that we’re experts, but we see more than we ever wanted to. That moon won’t rise any faster however much you fidget.”
She was right. Kel took a deep breath and thought of a broad, calm lake, its surface glassy and serene. Slowly, she drew breath in and released it, until she felt more like that lake. Once she had recovered some of her calm, she looked at the mage again. “I thought smugglers worked in the dark of the moon.”
The old woman grinned at her. “Not on the Vassa, girl. You need all the help with the Vassa you can get. We have our little arrangement, both sides. They’re well paid to overlook us on the far bank, and we’ve a friend who explained to Vanget we do more good than harm.”
“You mean the Whisper Man,” Kel guessed. “Who is he?”
“He buys and sells information. More than that, I can’t tell you,” the woman said. “Mayhap your friend will say, or not. Look. There’s a fox, with her cubs.”
Kel looked over the woman’s shoulder and saw a vixen and two cubs. They trotted across the clearing, the mother alert for enemies, then vanished into the trees near the wider path from the woods.
As the mage turned back towards the longhouses, Kel remembered something she had wanted to ask. “You said I had the hand of fate on me,” she reminded the woman as she thrust the gate dosed and barred it. “How could you tell? Do you have the Sight as well as the Gift?”
The old woman cackled. “Who needs Sight to tell that much?” she asked. When Kel offered her an arm, she latched on to it with her free hand, her grip like an eagle’s claw. Together they walked slowly towards the woman’s home. “A wench in armour, wearing a griffin-feather band. You’ve got a clever set of animals about you and you’re leading four knights and a bunch of men who don’t look sentimental. Oh, yes! And you’re chasing after two hundred warriors and nearly five hundred prisoners, led by Stenmun Kinslayer.” They entered the longhouse as the old woman continued, “You don’t need magic to see the fate in that, any more than you need a healer to know you and your folk are deranged.” Kel hung her head. “I tried to stop them,” she muttered.
“That’s your fate, too,” the mage said, releasing her arm. “Be happy they respect you so much they didn’t listen. It’s not like you’re off to a May fair, not with Stenmun against you.” She tottered off to a seat by the hearthfire.
Kel sighed. She was grateful. She just wished she didn’t know how little chance they all had to return alive.
The smugglers served a very well-made dish of murrey. Having seen no cows anywhere, Kel was wondering how their hosts got the veal that set the pork off so well, when Merric sat across from her. Kel eyed him as she briskly wiped the inside of her bowl with a piece of bread. She was fairly certain why he’d come and would have avoided this argument, but she knew him. Nothing would stop him from saying his piece. He’d been asleep since the smugglers had taken them in; if he were to speak freely, it was now, before they crossed the river, or not at all.
When he opened his mouth she quickly asked, “Feeling better? That’s the trouble with healings, you could sleep for a week. You shouldn’t be here.” She grimaced. In her eagerness to distract him, she’d given him the perfect opening.
He took it. “Kel, we shouldn’t be here, none of us. It’s not too late. My lord’s practical, he’ll overlook - “
Kel met her friend’s eyes squarely. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave my people to the enemy. To Blayce. I can’t. Even without what I know - ” She stopped herself, grinding her teeth in frustration. She must be tired. Either that or the smugglers had put something in the food to make their guests talkative. She wouldn’t put it past them.
Merric pounced on the hint. “What do you know? Kel, if there’s something you’re not telling us, you owe it to us to spit it out.”
She was shaking her head. “You won’t believe me.”
Merric sat back with a frown, eyes puzzled. “Come on, Kel. Give me the benefit of the doubt. I’m a gullible lad. I believe all sorts of things.”
“If it’s knowledge you’re after, try Neal,” suggested Dom. He straddled the bench Kel sat on. “It looks to me like he’s gleaning from the crop of spy fields.”
They looked across the hall. Neal sat in deep conversation with a knot of smugglers, unaware that his friends looked his way.
“What does Lady Alanna know of spies?” demanded Kel. “That’s how he said he knew of them, from riding with her.”
“He also mentioned her husband,” Dom reminded Kel. “I think that’s more to the point.”
“Enough!” snapped Merric. “Kel, just say it, all right?”
“It’s sommat to do with Blayce, an’ Stenmun, an’ that Ordeal room,” Tobe said. He’d come up behind Kel. “She dreams about ‘em all the time. How can anybody talk to a room?”
“Tobe,” Kel began, and sighed. “It’s not just a room. Or there’s a thing in it, a god or something.” She looked at Merric, Dom and Esmond, who’d come to listen. “I, I had reason to talk to it, before we left Corus.”
Merric blinked. “You talked. To the Chamber.”
“I said you wouldn’t believe me,” Kel reminded him. “It told me that my path and Blayce’s would cross.” The words were as bitter as gall when she said, “It just wouldn’t - couldn’t - tell me when, or where, or how many would die beforehand.”
“Well, that answers that. I’m so glad I was a younger son and never wanted a knighthood,” remarked Dom, getting to his feet. “I wouldn’t go in the Chamber once, let alone twice. Not to be abrupt, but it looks like we’re getting ready to move.”
He was right. Everyone was standing. As Kel and her people walked to the door, the old woman met them, holding a large, open cup of the sort known in Scanra as a krater. “Some protection for poor folk ground between two countries,” she said, meeting Kel’s eyes.
Kel sniffed the steam rising from the krater. “Neal,” she called.
He took the cup from its bearer. Emerald fire rose from his hands to drift over the liquid inside. He raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Very nice,” he said with considerable approval. “I don’t suppose you have the recipe?”
“I’ll give it to you when you return,” the old woman said. “Now reassure the lady, here, before she sets her birdies on me.”
Neal grinned and took a swallow from the krater before offering it to Kel. “It’s a very neatly specialized bit of magic,” he explained. “If anyone tries to learn how we crossed the river, or who helped us, we’ll forget. It’s keyed to the spot where you drink the potion, you see. Harmless, except if we’re questioned by mages or torturers, we won’t give this place or these people away.”
“You’re sure!” demanded Esmond.
Both Kel and Neal looked at him, Neal with more wrath than Kel. “Do you think he’d have taken the first drink himself if he weren’t?” Kel asked Esmond.
“Not our Sir Meathead,” Dom commented behind Kel.
“You’re like a dog with a bone about that name,” growled Neal as Kel slid the krater from his hands.
She ignored Dom’s reply as she sipped. Her tongue found hints of lavender, rosemary and peppermint, mixed in with other strong herbs. She grimaced - maybe healers like Neal lost their sense of taste after drinking their own nasty teas - and passed the krater to Dom.
When it reached Merric, he looked at it, and sighed. “Why didn’t I start my page-training with year-mates who were sane?” he asked sadly, then drank.
“You’re not looking at this the right way,” Owen told him sternly as he accepted the cup. “Here we are on an adventure. It’s glory, and fame, and all those people the Scanrans took. It’s not counting troops or finding ways to bury the dead so they won’t rot into the drinking water. And if we die in battle, Mithros will speak for us in the Black God’s court. You ought to be more grateful.” He took a gulp from the krater, nearly spat the mouthful out, and forced himself to swallow it instead.
Once all of them had drunk, the smugglers led the way down the moonlit trail to the river. The sparrows rode, fast asleep for the night; many of the dogs and cats were tucked into their saddlebags. They could rest their paws for a while, at least, after their long day’s run. Everyone in armour and mail wrapped themselves in blankets so no glint of polished metal gave them away. Even the horses’ armour was wrapped in large canvas sacks and carried.
The smugglers’ boats were well hidden, covered in nets through which leafy branches were laced. From the water they must look like greenery, Kel guessed as she led Peachblossom on to a flat-bottomed boat. She hadn’t realized how nervous she was about the crossing until the smugglers cast off and poled the boats into the current. It could be worse, she told herself as the boat wobbled, rocked and bounced under her feet. You could be falling off a cliff, or climbing one.
A warm, solid weight leaned against her left calf. A bigger, more solid weight pressed against her right side. Kel peeked: Jump had come to steady her on the left as Peachblossom braced her on the right. “It’s as easy as pie,” she told them. “A really bouncy pie.”
Once the boat slid to a stop on the far shore, Kel disembarked. It took three trips for the smugglers to land them all in Scanra, necessary with the large, skittish warhorses. Owen’s Happy did not live up to his name. He baulked at the sight of the boat, fidgeted all the way across, and leaped ashore as soon as he could, nearly yanking his master into the Vassa.
“I’m with you,” Neal told the stallion as Owen led him to stand beside Kel. “I felt safer on ocean ships in the middle of a storm.”
“The Vassa keeps what it takes,” Sergeant Connac murmured, repeating an old northern proverb.
Once they were across, the smugglers left them without prolonged farewells. If their Scanran kin were anywhere near, they refused to show themselves. Kel looked around, wondering if she would need the maps, but there was a good-sized trail along the river’s margin.
They could follow it to the spot where the raiders had landed with their refugees.
“Let’s get ready,” she ordered her friends softly. Those closest to her passed the order down the line. “Tobe, I’d better take Peachblossom now. You ride Hoshi.”
Tobe nodded and got to work saddling the mare. Kel put saddle and armour on Peachblossom, then mounted up. The dogs and cats had already spread out to cover the ground between the river’s edge and the bluffs that rose a hundred yards away. They scouted for lurkers or enemy soldiers, sniffing the evening’s mild breeze.
As soon as everyone was ready, Kel signalled them to move out, along the riverside trail. Merric rode beside her. For a mile or so he was quiet. Suddenly he asked, “The Chamber of the Ordeal?”
Kel nodded.
“You said you talked to it before we left Corus. You - you went inside?”
Kel nodded a second time.
“You went into the Chamber a second time.”
Looking at her friend, Kel sighed. “I had to.”
“And you’re allowed to talk about it? Your Ordeal.”
“Not the Ordeal,” Kel said patiently. “It said I could talk about the second time, the task it set me, if I could find anyone who would believe me. Do you believe me?”
“I have no idea,” replied Merric, his face troubled.
“Then we don’t need to keep talking now,” Kel pointed out. “That would be a good thing, seeing’s how we’re in enemy territory. Don’t you think so?”
Merric took the hint and returned to his place in the column.
Two miles of brisk riding brought them to the wide, mangled grassy verge where six large, flat-bottomed boats had been pulled on to the land and covered over with branches. Kel’s instinct was to put holes in them, in case the enemy meant to use them for the assault on Mastiff. At the same time, she knew they could be used to take the refugees home.
The three-quarter moon settled her mind: it was edging towards the treetops. They had to ride now. They were in the open and needed to find cover before moonset.
Raising her hand, she signalled her people to follow and turned Peachblossom. They rode down the broad, messy path left by raiders, wagons and horses. It led northeast, towards the rise of the bluffs, and deeper into Scanra. High above, moonlight glittered on Stormwing feathers and claws as a lone scout flew overhead.
8 June, 460 HE
Scanra, beween the Vassa and Smiskir Rivers
15
ENEMY TERRITORY
They followed the refugees’ trail across the Vassa road to the foot of the bluffs, where an unpleasant surprise awaited them. Beside the trail the raiders’ mounts had left, five dead people hung from trees. Into the ground before them someone had thrust a plank of oak with a sign cut into it: “Rebellious Slaves”.
Kel knew them all, of course, even with their faces swollen and dark from hanging. Two were a husband and wife from Riversedge, both smiths. One was a convict soldier from Gil’s squad, one a Tirrsmont man who was forever losing his temper. The fifth was Einur, the cook.
They cut the bodies down and covered them with leafy branches. There was no time to dig graves. Kel tried to speak the prayers for them but could not. She had liked Einur. He’d been one of her first supporters at Haven, someone she knew would always be honest with her. It was Neal who finally prayed.
They rode on along the foot of the bluffs until Kel called a halt. A place where the trees at the base of the rising stone offered plenty of cover for them and the horses. Once the animals were tended, they worked out guard watches and settled for what remained of the night. Kel thought that she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Heartsick over the dead, worried about the time and distance they had lost, she hadn’t known how exhausted she was. The moment she pulled her blanket over her she was asleep.
Tobe woke her around dawn. Kel blinked at him and thought of a new concern. “Did I talk in my sleep?”
“No, lady,” he assured her.
“It could be that now you’re on your way, you’ll stop dreaming about it,” Dom pointed out from nearby. He was cutting slices of cheese and cold sausage: no one wanted to risk a fire in enemy territory. The rest of the men were up and about, eating their cold breakfast as they fed and saddled the horses. One of the convict soldiers skinned rabbits as the dogs and cats waited patiently so they could eat, too.
They’re getting spoiled, Kel thought as she cleaned her teeth as best she could. Next thing you know, they’ll start thinking we’re their pets. She combed her hair, then got out her maps. If she had judged their crossing and the direction of the refugees’ trail properly, she and her friends were tucked into a broad angle formed by the Vassa road and the Smiskir road. That road followed the river of the same name, a tributary of the Vassa. Now that Stenmun was in home territory, he would be relieved of the need to move secretly and quietly. Judging by what she saw of his trail from her camp, he was heading straight for the Smiskir road. She folded her maps, accepted cold ham and cheese from one of the men, and mounted the already-saddled Hoshi. Tobe immediately hauled himself into Peachblossom’s saddle.
“Doesn’t it hurt you to ride him for so long?” Kel asked, seeing the boy’s feet never got near the stirrups.
“He don’t mind if I fidget, long as I don’t fall off,” said Tobe, patting the gelding’s neck. “If it gets too bad, I ride sidesaddle.”
“You could ride a packhorse,” Esmond pointed out. “They’re smaller.”
Tobe shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but me’n Peachblossom do fine.”
“Suit yourself,” Esmond replied with a shrug, then mounted his own horse.
Kel sent animal scouts out in a wide circle around her group, and placed humans on either side to look for things the animals might deem unimportant. She then led her column of men single file over the ground already covered by the refugees to ensure that enemy patrols would confuse their tracks for those of the refugees. On they rode through forests that looked the same as those they had ridden through the day before, hearing the same kinds of birds, seeing the same kinds of trees. Kel realized that she’d expected things to look different once they were in another country. She shook her head. The land didn’t change because humans divided it with an invisible line. Birds weren’t stopped from going where they must for food, and the Scanran side of the Vassa ran as hard, fast and cold as the Tortallan side.
She also knew she should not let the similarities in countryside soothe her. The rocks and trees might look the same, but she and her men were in enemy territory, far more so than when they’d been on the smugglers’ land. She was especially wary, as if the trees might have eyes. Every twig-snap, every rustle in the bushes was a hunter in search of supper, a farmer’s child looking for mushrooms, or an enemy scout.
A glimpse of bright colour grabbed her attention. With a thin smile, Kel leaned down from the saddle and plucked a bit of red yarn from the end of a twig. “That doll will be as bald as an egg by the time we find Meech,” she murmured to Neal.
He grinned. “They’re tough, those young ones,” he remarked, his voice also quiet. “It amazes me, how tough they are.”
Kel sobered immediately, remembering Blayce’s workroom, and a white shape that called “Mama?” Their young people would have to be tough, to get away from the mage and his dog Stenmun.
They reached the Smiskir road by the time the sun was clear of the eastern mountains. Kel had worried that her quarry’s tracks might be lost among others on the road, but it seemed five hundred people and their guards were enough to make an impression even on a major highway. Jacut, the human scout on their group’s left flank, found a game trail that paralleled the road: they could ride there with trees and brush to hide them from passers-by.