Tarah Woodblade (38 page)

“Hey, where’s the girl?” asked one of the dwarves.

“I dunno,” said the one Blayne had called Robert. His head was shaved, but for the mustache. “I tell you I done saw her head this way. She walked right across the road like she had no clue anybody was lookin’ fer her. Did you see anythin’ Mel?”

“I thought she was there when I shot,” Mel said. He looked right at Tarah. “She must’ve run off.”

What were they talking about? Tarah struggled to comprehend it through her clouded mind. She was lying out in the open after all. Then Tarah noticed something strange. Move her eyes as she might, she couldn’t see her nose. Somehow the rogue’s blood was making her invisible. Oh poor Esmine. Tarah was so sorry.

“I watched that girl walk right up to the rogue,” Blayne said. He shook his head. “I dunno how she tracked it here. I didn’t see no tracks.”

“She’s a real good tracker,” said another voice that Tarah recognized as Leroy’s. “When we was tracking that other rogue in the snow we almost lost it a few times, but she always found it.”

“Want us to chase her down, Ringmaster?” Robert asked.

“Naw. Why bother. Shade hired her to find us a rogue and lookee here, she found us a rogue.” Blayne spat. “Far as I’m concerned, the deal’s done. Send some boys up the riverbank, though. See if they can find the other rogue’s tracks. Maybe we can make this a twofer.”

 Esmine had stopped struggling and laid on the ground, breathing slowly. Her large red eyes seemed to be pleading with Tarah to do something. The dwarves pulled out a long piece of canvas and pulled Esmine onto it. As they pulled her away, a shadow fell across Tarah’s face.

“Hey,” Mel whispered, his lips close to her ear. “Yeah, I know yer here. I’m keepin’ that to myself though. I just wanted you to know I’m coming back for you later.”

Tarah’s vision darkened. She barely saw the dwarf stand and walk away with the others. Everything went black.

Chapter Twenty

Tarah’s parting words struck Djeri like a punch to the gut. He watched her walk away, his outstretched arm slowly falling as she disappeared from sight. He leaned against Neddy, breathing heavily.

“I make her sick?” His mind was numb. Stunned, he replayed the moment over and over.

Neddy reached around and bit his hand just hard enough to get his attention.

“Ow! What?” He glared at the mule. Neddy snorted and jerked his head in Tarah’s direction. “No, she doesn’t want us going after her.” The mule rolled his eyes and Djeri glared back at him. “She’ll be fine. There’s not one of those smugglers she couldn’t out track.”

He pushed off of the mule and stepped away, looking at the river rush by. In the far distance he could barely make the wooden buildings of Filgren on the Dremaldrian side. The great water wheel had been lifted out of the water and stood still. He wondered what had happened to the ferry. He remembered the violence of the river and didn’t see how anyone could have survived.

Clasping his hands behind his head, he turned away and looked into Neddy’s accusing eyes. The whole conversation with Tarah had been surreal. Was she truly a fraud? He didn’t know what to think.

He stood there for a long time, his mind going in circles. How could she say that to him? How could she leave after all they’d been through together? Maybe she really was a coward. After all, she had run away. She had run away from the war and now she had run away from him.

“Come on, Neddy,” he said finally. He grabbed the mule’s lead and pulled him towards the academy outpost. “If we stay here any longer, we’re just begging to get caught.”

The mule resisted for a little while, but eventually he gave up and followed along. Djeri shook his head, mumbling to himself as he went. What had he been thinking, telling her that he cared for her? He was a stupid, stupid fool. How had he expected her to react? Sure she had kissed him. Sure she had saved his life. That didn’t make her beholden to him.

He continued to mull things over in his mind as he walked. The going was slow. This section of the riverbank was only sparsely forested and wind had blown the previous night’s snow into drifts that were sometimes waist high. He growled in anger at the weather. Why was it still winter? It already felt like the longest winter of his life and there were still two months of it left to go.

He pushed on until noon. He was pushing through a particularly annoying snowdrift when it occurred to him that he had let Tarah go without taking any supplies. She took her bow and sword, but he had their blankets and provisions. Djeri stopped, his emotions torn. Surely she’d be fine. She was a survivor after all. She’d been living on her own in the wilderness for years. Still, the thought of her shivering without a blanket, huddled by a small fire made him anxious.

He almost turned around and went after her. Then his nose caught a savory scent in the air. Someone was roasting meat. His stomach rumbled and Djeri realized that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. He looked around and saw a wisp of smoke curling up from the center of a small stand of trees.

Cautiously, he followed the smell until he found the source. Sitting on a rock by the fire was a nondescript man in his middle years. He wore plain traveler’s clothes and a winter cloak of fur. He was roasting four small spits of meat, turning them slowly. He had brown hair and kind eyes, but a forgettable face. In fact, Djeri was sure that as soon as he looked away, he would be completely unable to remember what the man looked like. He frowned. That’s what always happened when you met the Prophet.

Standing behind the Prophet, standing two full feet taller than Neddy, was the rogue horse they had been following for so long. He looked just as Valtrek had described. His front end was that of an enormous gorilla, his rear end that of a great cat, and he currently had one enormous finger up his nose.

“Come, Djeri the Looker,” said the Prophet without looking up from the skewers. “Sit and eat for a spell. We have things to talk about.”

“Of course it was you. Who else could it have been?” Djeri said, his brow knit in frustration. This was just like the Prophet. Wandering around, nudging people here or there, changing their lives, but never telling them what he was up to.

“You look displeased to see me,” the Prophet said, his eyebrows raised. He held out one of the skewers. “Don’t be too mad. I cooked you some squirrel.”

“Why didn’t you tell us it was you?” Djeri asked. “I mean, you could have left Tarah a single footprint message on the first day. ‘By the way, it’s me, the Prophet. I’m the one riding the rogue horse around.’”

“Sit. Eat,” the Prophet said. “And call me John. We’ve certainly known each other long enough.”

“Fine, John.” He sat on a tree stump across the fire from the man and accepted a skewer of meat. He was in a foul mood, but when he bit into it, he moaned in spite of himself. The meat was tender and had the perfect amount of spice. He could taste salt and curry and something else he couldn’t quite identify. “You de-boned this? Who de-bones a squirrel?”

“There’s a trick to it, but it’s not so hard with as much practice as I’ve had,” John said with a shrug. “How is it?”

“I’d say it’s just about the best squirrel meat I’ve ever had,” Djeri said, chewing the last piece. “Strange, I never pictured you cooking.”

John handed him another laden skewer. “Why is that? Do you think I go around with a maidservant?”

“Nobody knows what you do,” Djeri said with a shrug, as he filled his mouth. Wow, it was good. “Some people think you don’t eat.” At the Prophet’s raised eyebrow, he added. “You never ate with us during the siege.”

“Djeri, I find that a meal is a fine time for private reflection. I have some of my greatest moments of understanding while filling my belly.” he said. “This is one of the reasons I’m feeding you right now.”

Djeri frowned. What reflection did the Prophet want him to make? “I asked you a question before.”

“Ah, the tracking. Well to tell you the truth, I didn’t know you were following me,” John said. “At least not right away. You were almost on our heels when I realized what was going on. As for why I didn’t tell you, I ask, would that knowledge have changed anything?”

“Perhaps not, but it would have at least been a simple courtesy,” Djeri said, wiping his mouth.

The Prophet handed him a third skewer before claiming the fourth one for himself. “I apologize. At my age courtesy is something easy to forget.”

Djeri gave him a wry look. John always spoke like an old man, yet he looked to be no more than forty or fifty in human terms. Then again, maybe that’s what happened when one lived for thousands of years.

They chewed in silence for a moment and Djeri’s thoughts turned back to Tarah. It felt strange that she wasn’t sitting there with him. “It’s a shame that Tarah’s not here. She would have liked meeting the rogue horse she’s followed for so long.”

“Me?” The rogue horse looked at him and smiled, showing him an enormous mouth full of plate-sized teeth. Neddy had walked up to the rogue and was sniffing him suspiciously.

“Yes,” Djeri said, surprised to hear the thing talk. “And, uh, I’m sure she would have liked to meet you too, John.”

The Prophet swallowed a mouthful of food. “So why isn’t she here?”

“Oh. She, um . . .” Djeri leaned forward, staring into the fire. “I don’t know what happened. We had this talk and she tells me she’s not who she is and for a minute there, I didn’t know who she was . . . The truth is, I think I screwed up. I don’t know.”

“Come on now, you’re Djeri the Looker!” John said in mock surprise. “You’re supposed to figure out these things. Why do you think I coined that name for you?”

“Because you have a sense of humor,” he replied dully.

“No. It’s because you have a particular talent. You have eyes that see the soul.”

Djeri snorted. “That’s not what people think when they hear that name. I’ve allowed everyone to call me it out of respect for you, John, but come on. Most folks hear ‘Djeri the Looker’ and either assume I’m vain, or just a peeper.”

“Indeed?” the Prophet laughed. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I thought it was a clever bit of wordplay, myself.”

Djeri sighed. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying use that skill,” John said. “What do those ‘peepers’ of yours tell you about Tarah Woodblade?”

“I don’t know,” Djeri said, clutching his hair. “My brain is all jumbled up when it comes to her.”

“That’s called love,” the Prophet said. “Look past it.”

“Love? But-.” He sputtered a bit, then sighed again. Arguing with the Prophet was useless. He knew too much. “Alright. Give me a minute.”

Djeri closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He tried to think about Tarah logically, pushing all his emotions aside. He took all his theories he’d come up with about her over the last month and added the information she had told him that morning. He frowned. It didn’t make sense. It was like she was two different people. He re-examined their conversation and stripped out all of her own opinions about her actions, looking only at the facts.

Suddenly, everything fell into place.

“Oh.” Djeri opened his eyes.

“Do you see now?” John asked.

“I’ve got to go now,” Djeri said, standing up. “I’ve got to find her.”

“Yes, I think it’s about time that you did. But before you do, there’s something I must give you.” He leaned back. “Rufus?”

The rogue horse grunted and picked something up from the ground. He stretched out his enormous arm and Djeri saw Tarah’s red staff clutched in his hand. John took it from the rogue and leaned it across his knee.

“Where did you find that?” Djeri asked.

“Floating downstream,” he said. “We saw it early this morning caught in an eddy. Rufus swam out to get it for me. He’s a great swimmer. Loves the cold water.”

Rufus shivered. “Cold!”

Djeri laughed. “And she ran off looking for it. Oh if only I had been able to convince her to come with me.”

“These things happen,” John said. “People part ways. You needed to think. She needed to think. But now that’s done.” He spun the staff through his fingers with practiced hands, then held it out with a slight frown on his face. “You know, this blood staff is a distasteful tool in many ways. In the old days people went so far as to call it evil.” He shook his head. “But in the end, the value of a tool has more to do with the user than the tool itself. I suggest you take it to her.”

“Blood staff?” Djeri said, taking it from the prophet’s hands. “What does it do? She thought it was giving her tracking powers.”

“Well, I suppose it may have enhanced them a bit. Magic this old seems to have that effect on spirit magic powers. As far as what it’s designed to do, well . . . that’s old news, I’m afraid,” John said with a sad smile. “And you know me, Djeri. As frustrating as it is, there are things I like to keep close to my chest. I’ve learned over these long years that the right bit of information at the wrong time can ruin everything.”

“So we should just take it on faith?” Djeri said with a scowl. “That’s what you always ask us to do, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “It’s the way my master works and therefore part of my job. Now go. I have the feeling that it’s important you leave right away.”

“Right,” Djeri said. “Neddy!” The mule was standing in front of the rogue horse. They were looking at each other very closely, staring into one another’s eyes as if they were having some kind of contest. “We need to go find Tarah!”

Djeri looked at the Prophet. “But how do I find her? She’ll have hidden her tracks.”

John frowned. “That would make it difficult.” He stood and walked over to Djeri. “Would you like my help finding her?”

“Yes.” he said. Of course he would. Why even ask?

“Very well, then. Hold tightly to her staff.” He gave Djeri the staff and placed his hands on the dwarf’s head. “This is more difficult to do with dwarves, but hold on.”

A strange warmth gathered under the Prophet’s hands and descended over Djeri’s body causing a shiver to run up the dwarf’s spine. Then the warmth focused in his head. The heat increased, becoming hotter and hotter until Djeri thought his brain must be cooking.