His companions looked up in alarm as he cantered his foam-flecked horse alongside. They had stopped in the center of a wide, almost dry, riverbed to water the livestock, and also to exchange mounts and spares. It was an exposed position, but one where they were not likely to leave conspicuous traces on the ground. That might be Garadooi thinking like a woodsman, or mere chance. Wallie did not care which it was, for he knew that the expedition had been leaving an obvious trail. The sorcerers would need no magic to follow it.
Unsaddling his own horse, he quickly explained the new problem. If the sorcerers were aware of the bridge, then surely they must also know of the fugitives.
“Twelve?” Nnanji said thoughtfully. “Six each way?”
“Perhaps. Except that they will soon see that we have gone by the junction, so maybe ten in this direction.” And in less than half an hour, likely.
“You think they can send messages?” Honakura remarked, leaning over the tailgate and leering. “Or can they see at a distance?” He was enjoying watching Wallie struggle with the concept of sorcery.
“Messages, I hope.” But the sorcerers would have needed time to load the drays after learning of the downed bridge . . . why had they not sent men off after the fugitives immediately? Either they knew exactly what the swordsmen were doing and where they were, or they expected to catch them easily on the trail. Or there might be another force ahead somewhere.
“Eagles?” Nnanji tilted his head to study the high blue sky. Faint dots floated there—kites or vultures . . . or sorcerers?
“I’m going to ignore that possibility,” Wallie said firmly, “because if they’re that powerful, then nothing we do will be of any use at all. But we’ve got to get off the road.”
“The horses need a rest, my lord!” Quili’s chin was raised in respectful but determined revolt. “We have been pushing them much too hard and too long.” Wallie resisted a temptation to consign the horses to perdition. The people needed more than rest.
“If we leave the road,” Garadooi said, “we’ll lay a trail as obvious as that mountain.”
Wallie stared along the river valley. “That mountain” showed fainter and bluer than it had been, higher and surprisingly far off. He turned and looked the other way. The river was typical of rivers he had seen near mountains before—more gravel than water, a very wide bed of shingle with scattered little streams and puddles in it, and a few grassy or scrubby islands. It would be easier terrain than the road.
“We can’t be very far from the River itself!” he said. “Let’s head that way. And stay in the water.”
“It’s safe enough,” Quili nodded to where some of the horses were wading.
Could animals sense piranha? Not wanting to show his ignorance, he did not ask. “Let’s move!”
“Her powers are always most manifest near the River,” Honakura said sagely.
“Indeed, in affliction we should seek Her aid,” Garadooi agreed.
“Katanji?” Nnanji asked, but as he did so, a sound of hooves announced that the scout was coming back to see what the delay was. Better and better.
So move they did, splashing along the stream. When one branch gave out, they crossed shingle to another. Soon the winding of the valley and the tufty islands had hidden them from the road, and then they left the water and walked dry-shod on the pebbles. A good tracker would find them soon enough, but, with any luck, pursuing sorcerers would go farther on toward Aus before realizing they had missed their prey.
After a while Wallie drew alongside Garadooi. “What are the chances that we shall find a hamlet or village on the River?”
The boy shook his head, looking worried and lost now. “We can only trust in the Most High, my lord. If there is a village, of course, they will have boats.”
Which was what Wallie had been thinking. He could acquire safer transportation on the River with gold, or with steel.
An hour or so went by with no signs of pursuit. Late-afternoon sun glared fiercely down and reflected back as savagely from the dark shingle. There was no wind. The horses were visibly flagging, footsore from the hard going, and making very slow time. The passengers in the cart were bone-weary from the endless lurching and bumping, the riders sore and raw. They were all eaten away by mosquitoes. Twisting and winding, the valley yet continued unchanged between thickly wooded walls.
Wallie chewed at his problems without tasting any answers. Boats and an escape by water had the greatest appeal, but the River might be far off—he had no way of knowing. Alternatively, common sense suggested that he find a campsite somewhere and leave the civilians. Hopefully only the swordsmen were in great danger, so they could retrace their steps and try to reach Aus, traveling by night. Then they could return with help. He did not like that program at all. He did not want to leave Jja undefended.
Suddenly the river changed and became a small lake, almost filling the valley. Its far bank was a rocky dam—an obvious lava flow to Wallie’s eye—and beyond that was open sky and a remote horizon of blue water, framed by the valley walls. Cheering broke out.
“Master!” Jja exclaimed. “Look—smoke!”
The cheering grew louder as the others also saw the filmy white cloud rising from somewhere ahead. Smoke meant people.
It had long been obvious that the previous day’s rain had not touched this side of the mountains. The lake was low, and the cart was able to skirt it on a shingle beach with only two or three dips into water. A low rumble ahead warned of falls. Even the horses seemed to feel the excitement as the expedition reached the end of the lake and began to cross over the hummocky black barrier. The river foamed along a narrow trench, then fell away into a rising cloud of spray.
Katanji had pushed his horse to the fore and was standing silhouetted against the sky. He yelled something into the noise.
Wallie dismounted, dropped his reins, and walked forward stiffly to see. When he reached the cliff edge, he was looking down into a small and boxy canyon, floored by grass and scrub. The waterfall cascaded down in giant steps into a pool, from which a stream wandered along through the trees to enter the River beside a rough pier of black stonework. There were no boats tied there, and it seemed deserted. A couple of roofless cottages guarded the landward end, overgrown and obviously ancient.
Jja came and stood at his side. He put his mouth close to her ear and shouted. “We’re a century or so too late!”
“But the smoke . . . ”
“Steam!”
He had forgotten that volcanic country could nurture hot springs. One side of the canyon was wooded, but the other was mostly bare and knobby rock, glistening and steaming like a motionless cascade of porridge.
The others had come to see, also. After a while they all retreated back to the cart, away from the tumult.
“It’s a quarry,” Wallie said, “or it was, once. The hot water makes . . . that brownish marble stuff.” Evidently Shonsu had never heard of travertine, for he could not put a name to it.
“Looks like no one’s been here in a lifetime. Well, it’s a sheltered spot, and we can have hot baths.”
“There are boats out there, my lord,” Katanji said, squinting into the westering sun.
The boats were much too far off to be of use, but a leader must keep his followers’ spirits up. Wallie looked meaningfully at Nnanji’s red pony tail. “We’ll take your brother down to the dock and wave him,” he suggested.
As a campsite, the quarry canyon could not have been bettered. There were indeed warm pools at the base of the cliff. Nettles had taken possession of the ruined cottages, but there was grass on which to pitch the two small tents the adventurers had brought, and they could build a fire without being seen by watchers inland. There was fresh water to drink and there would be shelter from wind, if wind came.
Getting there was the problem. It took another hour to move all the people, the supplies, and the horses safely to the valley floor, and by that time the sun was nearing the horizon. The cart was pushed a little way down the slope and wedged against a tree, less visible from the lake above.
Wallie had never felt more weary in two lifetimes, and everyone else looked equally bedraggled by the long, hard day. He sent the women off to try the hot pools while the men pitched camp. He himself went down and inspected the jetty. Built of discarded stone from the quarry, it was obviously very old, but probably still usable.
Then he joined the other men in a luxurious hot soak that unknotted muscles and soothed blisters, taming aching fatigue into sleepy weariness. When that was over, food was waiting.
The sun set in a celebration of gold and crimson, sky and River in duet. Water birds flew homeward.
There was little talk around the campfire as the valley gradually filled with darkness. Cowie fell over, asleep, and Nnanji ordered her to go to bed. She smiled vaguely and wandered away to the tents. Silence returned. Even the normally bubbly Katanji had lost his air of excitement, while Honakura looked dangerously spent. Wallie had arrived the previous day at a deserted jetty by a little canyon, and now he had reached the same sort of place on the same River on the other side of the mountains. Somehow it did not feel like much progress.
“Well, novice?” he said. “Three days you’ve been a swordsman now. You’re not getting bored yet, are you?”
Katanji managed a grin. “No, my lord.”
Nnanji snorted in mock disapproval. “When I was a scratcher, I spent my first three days doing sword drill. I thought my arm was going to fall off.”
His brother shifted position. “My arm is not the problem, mentor.”
“I know how you feel, and where. He’s done well, has he not, my lord brother?”
“Very well. We all have.”
Nnanji nodded proudly and asked, “What do we do now?”
“Suggestions will be welcome.”
“We should pray,” Garadooi said primly, “throwing ourselves on the mercy—”
“Rot!” Honakura deepened his wrinkles into a pout.
“Blasphemy, old man!”
“Rot, I say! I assure you that the Goddess knows exactly what She’s doing. You’ve been on hunting trips, builder? Did you ever find a campsite with hot and cold water, with sweet hay, with a view like this . . . safer, better sheltered, or more obviously a special provision of the gods?”
“But—”
“Lord Shonsu is Her champion, and we are being well cared for.”
“—You’re a priest?” Garadooi reddened.
“I was,” the old man admitted testily. “And I say that we were led to this place for a purpose, so any requests from you would be mere presumption. The only person here with brains is Cowie.” At that he clambered stiffly to his feet and headed for the tents. Evidently he did not enjoy being sermonized by a mere layman, although that was part of the price of anonymity.
Sparks flew up into the darkness, and the yellow light flickered over the circle of weary faces. The fire’s tenor crackling sang over the waterfall’s baritone. Katanji yawned mightily, rolled himself up in a blanket, and was still.
The problem remained. Garadooi and Quili began conversing quietly. Wallie put his arm around Jja. Nnanji poked idly at the fire with a long stick.
There was driftwood. On any other River, Wallie might have contemplated building a raft, but these waters were deadly. The sails in the distance would have been fishing boats or trading ships, but he could think of no way to signal them. Even smoke would not work in this case, for the plume of steam must be a well-known local landmark.
“We have a couple of days’ food, I suppose,” he mused. “At least on short rations. You and I could try to make Aus, Nnanji. Then we could bring a boat for the others.”
Nnanji grunted quietly in agreement and yawned.
“We haven’t had much sleep in recent memory,” Wallie said. “A good long rest may brighten our wits a little.”
“You wish me to take first watch, my lord brother?”
“Not much point. Nowhere to run and no way to fight.”
Nnanji frowned doubtfully. If Wallie asked, he would willingly stand guard until he fell over.
“I know what the sutras say,” Wallie admited, “but I just think this case is unusual. We both need sleep more than anything.”
Nnanji nodded obediently and wished him good rest. He pushed off his boots and began wrapping his long legs in a blanket. Soon he was stretched out like a mummy and in two more minutes was snoring.
Jja cuddled closer to Wallie and sniggered playfully. “Cowie has been given the evening off again, master. She’s not having to work very hard, is she, for a night slave?”
He tightened his arm around her. “No, she’s having a real easy time.” Pause. “At least he isn’t attempting to honor any priestesses.”
Jja smiled up at him. “I think the apprentice seeks honor elsewhere.”
Wallie looked across the fire. Quili and Garadooi were sitting very close together, still talking . . . discussing slave barns?
“Uh! I hadn’t noticed.”
“I was very bold, master—I mentioned it to Adept Nnanji, also. He hadn’t noticed, either.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“But he approves of Builder Garadooi. And Builder Garadooi is very impressed by Apprentice Quili. Never really appreciated her before, he says. He hasn’t spent much time on the estate since he swore to his craft.”
Wallie kissed her ear. “I forgive your presumption, slave. Well done!”
Jja yawned and fell silent. Then she said, “Lord Honakura is actually enjoying this, isn’t he?”
“He . . . ” Wallie was about to say “He is having a ball,” but he stopped in time. It might come out literally. “Yes. He’s weary, of course. But, yes. He’s happy.”
“Have you noticed something else, master? You changed my life, and Nnanji’s. Lord Honakura is happy. And Wild Ani . . . ”
“I gave her gold?”
“Gold is little use to a slave, master. She could buy wine or sweetmeats with it, not much else. But you let her make fools of the whole temple guard. She would have loved that, more than anything.”
“What are you implying, my darling?”
“I think that all those who help your mission are rewarded. Novice Katanji was going to have to apprentice to his father, and he didn’t want that.”