They had reached the Gallenz Valley at last.
Another hour brought them to the edge of the valley where they paused. To the north and west, the hills rolled up to the sky, and Ilse noted golden bands alternating with russet and green. Farmland, she remembered from her previous trek through the wilderness, years before. What interested her the most were several towns along the river. She thought she recognized the particular configuration of river bends and settlements, but she couldn’t be certain. And for this next step, they could not afford any doubt.
“Where next?” Valara asked.
“We stop for today,” Ilse said. “I want to review our map.”
Galena found them a campsite in a thicket of birch and thorn bushes, near a small stream swollen from the spring rains. Dinner consisted of an insufficient amount of dried rabbit seasoned with wild currants and handfuls of clover. Afterward, they boiled pot after pot of water and stripped to scrub themselves clean.
Ilse brewed a cup of tea and settled down with her maps. Rain had soaked through the thick parchment, and she had to unfold the sheets carefully to avoid shredding them, but the mapmaker had evidently used ink imbued with magic, because the letters and lines were as crisp as when Ilse purchased the maps three months before. She traced the outline of the Gallenz River with one newly scrubbed finger, then peered down into the valley to match the drawing to their surroundings.
The river narrowed between two high banks. Two distinctive bends, with settlements on either side. Those would be Aschlau and Gutell. She knew from conversations with Raul that Aschlau was an overgrown village, founded by a miller and an ironsmith, which lay at the intersection of several large farms. The ironsmith sometimes passed along information to Raul. Gutell was a sister settlement across the river.
Both were too small for their purposes. Villagers noticed and remembered strangers. She scanned the map for other, larger towns or cities, where three wanderers might pass unnoticed. Ah, there—a small city named Emmetz. Measuring with her thumb, she calculated that twenty miles separated Emmetz from Aschlau, sixty miles from Tiralien. Far enough that Khandarr would not keep a watch on them.
“Three more days,” she murmured. “Four at the most, and we shall come to our first test.”
* * *
THEY ROSE AT
dawn and shared out the cold remains from supper for breakfast. Galena covered their fire pit and latrine. Valara and Ilse refilled their water skin from the stream, before they set off for the valley below.
At noon, they paused to rest and eat wild onions dug from the ground. Then it was onward through a meadow of new grass and wildflowers, to an almost invisible footpath that turned into a muddy trail rutted with wheel tracks. They filched vegetables from the fields outside Aschlau and ate them raw as they circled around the village for the highway beyond.
And now we are among people again,
Ilse thought.
Her stomach tightened from nerves. It was like her first encounter with the river and its highway, after she had escaped from the caravan, but then she had lived for weeks alone, starting at every sound because she feared Alarik Brandt. This time it was Markus Khandarr. Strange how she could not measure the distance of terror between these two.
It was late afternoon of the fourth day, the sun slanting toward the horizon, as they approached the outer buildings of what Ilse decided had to be Emmetz. They passed a blacksmith, then several sizable animal pens, crowded with goats, sheep, and ponies. Beyond these stood a wall of brick houses and a paved street. Passing between them, Ilse saw that the banks of the river were much higher here, and most of the town perched on the slopes leading down to the water.
They asked direction from an old woman carrying a basket on her head. The woman’s eyes narrowed at their clothes and knapsacks, but she answered politely that, yes, they had reached the town of Emmetz and they might find an inn or tavern if they followed the main street. Soon enough they found a cheap-looking inn where they bought bowls of porridge. For a few denier more, the innkeeper filled a tub with hot water so they could bathe. He even offered them a scrap of soap for a small price. They scrubbed themselves as well as they could and beat the dirt from their clothes, but it was obvious they had spent weeks traveling through the wilderness, and Ilse felt as if a dozen eyes watched them as they made their way through the main square.
The late-afternoon sky was darkening, and the air was thick with golden light. Many of the shops had closed, but Ilse found a baker still open. She asked for directions to the street where Raul’s chief agent lived. The baker’s mouth settled into a disapproving line. Not a pleasant neighborhood, Ilse guessed. But the woman gave her directions and even offered her a drink of water after Ilse bought a half loaf of bread.
“Where next?” Galena asked when Ilse came outside.
“Minnow Lane. Once we deal with my friend’s friends, we can find a room and bed for tonight.”
Galena shrugged wearily, as if she hardly cared any longer about inns or friends. Valara shook her head but said nothing. She limped from blisters, but she offered no complaints.
Ilse led them back to the main avenue. From there, they hurried along the edge of the riverbank to an open square. A smaller lane at the bottom of the square, mentioned particularly by the baker, looped down the slopes toward the river. Now Ilse understood the woman’s distaste. An air of neglect overhung the neighborhood. Damp stained the plaster, the air smelled of urine, and paving stones changed to ankle-deep mud and filth.
Her companions followed her silently to the house Lothar Faulk had once described to her. Ilse motioned for them to stand to one side. She knocked.
Nothing. She knocked again and set her ear against the door.
“You won’t find ’em home,” said a rusty voice.
Ilse turned to see an old woman peering down from an open window in another house. “Not at home,” the woman repeated. Then she laughed, a high creaking laugh. “Sold up three months ago. Said that business turned bad here, and he’d try his luck elsewhere.”
“Do you know where?” Ilse said.
“No. But for a man with such terrible business, he whistled and sang a great deal. Are you wanting a room for tonight, lady?”
It was tempting. She might question the woman about Raul’s late agent. But it was equally likely the woman had been set to watch any visitors. She gave a friendly smile and shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”
The old woman muttered something about dirty beggars and slammed the shutters closed. Ilse skirted around the corner, to where Galena and Valara waited out of sight.
“Your friend’s friends were not so lucky for us,” Valara said.
“He has other friends. But I think we should try another town. We can find a bed for tonight, then head for Gutell tomorrow.” They would buy new clothes and good packs before they left Emmetz. They didn’t want to attract more attention.
They retraced their path up the hillside. In the brief interval since they arrived, the sun had disappeared behind the hills. Twilight flooded the streets, making them appear all alike. Ilse thought she remembered the way back. There had been a couple quick turns, then a pair of stairs leading up to the more public avenues.
A wrong turn brought them into a maze of passages, overhung with looming blank walls. Not their first wrong turn, Ilse thought as she surveyed their surroundings.
“We should have followed that other street to the left,” she said.
Galena sniffed. “We’re close to the river. I can smell it.”
“Do we go back?” Valara said.
“Yes, and quickly,” Ilse replied. “We don’t want to spend the night in the streets.”
Especially these streets. She disliked their emptiness, and her hand found her sword hilt.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she turned around to see a shadow blocking their path. It was a boy, all bones and ragged hair. Scars stood out pale against his dusky complexion, and he had the scattering of a beard. He held a knife in one hand, its blade pointed upward. His gaze flicked over Valara, then settled on Ilse. “I saw your money,” he said. “Drop your purse on the ground, and you won’t mind what comes next.”
Ilse exchanged a glance with Galena.
“Thieves,” she murmured, drawing her sword.
Galena already had hers in hand. “Hungry ones.”
What happened next came so quickly, Ilse could not separate cause from result.
Half a dozen figures swarmed from the building on their left. Six or seven more blocked the street behind them. Most of them were older boys, but several were hardly more than children, and there was one girl with a swollen belly. All of them were skinny, their eyes like dark pits in their faces. All of them carried sticks and knives.
Galena slashed at the gang leader’s face. The boy flung his arm up and ducked away in time. The others charged. Ilse parried with her sword and backed up against the closest wall. All her old drill patterns came to her without thinking. Block. Parry. Block again and thrust. Twice she took hard blows that made her gasp and lose the pattern, but these were not trained fighters.
Merely desperate ones. Their numbers could make up for skill. One blow to her head, one slash at her eyes, and she would die.
She glanced around, trying to find her companions. Valara had called up a wall of fiery magic. A double signature hung in the air—the dark of a fox, the cold bright of starlight. Good. Ilse whispered the summons, but she needed all her concentration for the fight, and the current wavered.
Off to one side, Galena’s blade flashed through the twilight. The youngest of the children scattered. One boy fell in a heap, stunned, another boy dropped, clutching his stomach. “Run!” Galena shouted.
With a flurry of blows, Ilse drove through her attackers. Together she and the others pelted toward the next street. If they could gain a few moments alone, she and Valara might combine their magic. They skidded around another corner. Valara stumbled. Ilse dragged her to her feet, but the gang was already upon them.
Galena gave a shout for help. Several shutters overhead were flung open. They immediately shut with a bang. Ilse swung around, looking for her companions. A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and flung her backward. The gang leader, blood streaming from his face, swung his knife high to strike.
Five strangers burst onto the scene. Four plunged into the mass of boys, sending them scattering with blows and sword thrusts. One—a powerfully built man—leapt past his companions to seize the gang leader’s arm. His knife arced through the air. The boy crumpled into a bloody heap. But the man did not release his hold until he’d bent over the boy and touched his throat. Then he lifted his gaze to Ilse’s.
It was Raul Kosenmark.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FOR A MOMENT,
Ilse could only stare at Raul.
Seven months. More than seven months since we were last together.
There was nothing of the lord about him today. His hair was tied back into a tight queue. He wore loose mud-stained trousers; dirty, scuffed boots; and a dark gray shirt that made him almost invisible in the twilight. Utterly plain. Very practical. He might have been a soldier, a robber, or a pirate. She wanted to walk directly into his arms and never leave them again. With a sickening effort, she controlled herself.
Raul sheathed his knife and came toward her in three swift strides. He touched her cheek as if to reassure himself that it was truly her, then glanced around at his guards and the street. “We should go at once,” he said. “There is a watch of sorts in the town. Eventually they will notice us.”
Only now did Ilse realize the fight had ended. The leader was dead, so were three of his companions. The pregnant girl sprawled on her back, groaning. Several others lay motionless. Ilse could not tell if they were dead as well, or unconscious. She glanced down at her bloody hands. Her shirt was bloody, too. She vaguely remembered stabbing one of the boys.
One of Kosenmark’s people pulled Galena to her feet. Galena looked dazed, her clothes were bloody and torn, but she was alive. Valara appeared untouched, unmoved, as she observed the scene. Ilse shivered at the blood and Valara’s indifference. Her own pulse beat erratically, and she tasted a sourness at the back of her throat.
I’ve killed a man before. Blood should not make me so squeamish.
A man, but not boys.
The warmth of Raul’s hand on her shoulder steadied her. He took a flask from his belt and handed it to her. It was good red wine, undiluted. She drank and felt warmth flood her body. She took a second, smaller swallow and gave the flask back. When he tilted his head in question, she nodded.
I am fine. I will survive.
Raul turned back to Galena and Valara. “Are you wounded?” he asked Galena. She stood slightly askew with one hand held over her ribs.
Galena’s chin jerked up and she stared. It was his voice—a woman’s contralto voice from the throat of a man. Ilse could see the clues fitting themselves together from the girl’s rapidly changing expression. A noble’s accent. A man whose reputation had spread throughout the kingdom. Even Galena had heard of Lord Kosenmark. She straightened up with a wince and saluted. “No, sir. I mean, my lord. One of them knocked me in the ribs. It hurts, but not so bad.”
Raul smiled at her. His gaze passed over Valara as he turned back to speak with his guards.
“Your friend came just in time,” Valara said quietly to Ilse. “He is your friend, yes?”
“Who else would rescue us?”
Valara did not answer. She was scanning the guards and Raul Kosenmark with an assessing gaze. Ilse thought Valara did not consider herself to be rescued. She looked as though she was preparing herself for another interrogation.
She is not so wrong. Raul will not trust her easily. He cannot afford to.
Raul signaled to his guards. They scattered to their posts—two in the lead, two more to guard the rear—and set off through the dark streets. Their pace was soft-footed and quick, but not so quick that Galena could not keep up. They must have scouted the entire town, Ilse thought, because they never hesitated once. Within moments they had left the alleyway behind and were gliding between silent buildings, then down a series of shallow steps to the waterfront.