Siobhan rubbed at her head, feeling a brooding headache coming along. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“One more thing. Darrens came and talked to me personally and handed me quite the bag of gold to finance this trip.” Sylvie tapped the leather bag strapped to her waist meaningfully. “He said to make sure to send reports daily to keep him updated.”
“Don’t blame him,” Beirly grunted from atop the cart.
“He also said,” Sylvie added, “that we’re not the only ones he’s sending out. Apparently he has friends near Sateren that he’s also sent word to and they’re searching for her even now. So this might turn out to be a wasted trip.”
“Let’s hope it is,” Wolf said quietly.
“Regardless, we act like we’re their only hope,” Siobhan said firmly. “Darrens trusts us to save his daughter and we’ll do exactly that. Unless someone else beats us to it.” She looked through the iron and stone east gate, looking past it and to the open stone highway that led west. Only a few carts and pedestrians traveled out of the city at this hour of the morning and absolutely no one traveled toward Goldschmidt. They had plenty of room to use Grae’s pathways without any danger of being jostled.
She studied the ground with a keen and discerning eye. She didn’t have an ounce of talent where pathfinding was concerned, but after working with Grae for ten solid years, she knew how to judge the ground and sky and predict whether they could use the paths or not. “Grae? I’m seeing a lot of frost.”
“It won’t hinder us,” he assured her, interrupted mid-sentence from his conversation with Hammon. “We’re going to need another hour or so of daylight anyway before the sun is strong enough, and the frost will melt by then.”
He could very well be right. It would take them an hour to reach his pathways too. But she’d timed their departure with that in mind. Satisfied, she waved them back to their conversation before turning to Sylvie. “Did Darrens say whether or not he could confirm that they made it through Quigg?”
“He said he’d sent word asking but hadn’t gotten a response yet.”
Quigg was an insane hub of traffic coming and going. Never mind people, large circuses could be lost in there without trouble. Even her plan of going into the city and asking for information was flawed and depended more on luck than anything.
She let out a low breath and wished, not for the first time, that the guilds that controlled all of the cities had better working relationships with each other. Or were at least on better speaking terms. Ever since the fall of the great four nations that had once ruled over these continents seven hundred years ago, the world had changed drastically. Now, each city had a guild that ruled over it like it was a miniature country. The economy, politics, and livelihood of a city survived on the trade and governing ability of the major guilds. Small guilds like hers always owed allegiance to a large guild because of that. On a day-to-day basis, the governing of independent guilds worked—more or less. It was just in times like these, when emergencies popped up, that she saw how flawed the system had become. The areas between cities might as well be a no man’s land as far as the guilds were concerned. If you got lost traveling between one city and the next, well, you’d best hope you had strong allies that would come looking for you.
No one else would.
“Alright, everyone into the cart!” Siobhan commanded.
They’d reached the pathway exactly on schedule. To the novice eye, it didn’t look like anything more than some elaborate stonework set into the earth, forming a straight line of stepping stones. In all actuality, there were two lines, one of which sat a hundred marks farther to the right, both of them well away from the main highway. It sat near a running brook—which had a thin layer of ice on it still—and so provided an excellent source for Grae’s necessary water element. He preferred the far path above the one they stood poised to walk on for that reason. Well, that and the fact that this path was built to carry a smaller load. The other path was made to handle large groups, like caravans. (Hence his habitual arguments with her about weight.)
Grae left the paths in place without worry because so few Pathmakers existed in the world. Anyone without a Pathmaker’s ability couldn’t use them, after all. But leaving a bunch of stones buried in the earth didn’t mean that they would stay obediently in place, so Grae hopped out of the cart and carefully checked to make sure that nothing had moved.
The day had not noticeably warmed up as they traveled, even though no clouds obscured the sun. Grae muttered under his breath things like “sun’s not strong this morning” and “wish we could wait another hour” but he didn’t pause in dipping his leather flask into the brook and fetching water, so Siobhan assumed that in spite of his mutterings, he still felt it safe enough to continue.
Used to the routine, everyone that hadn’t already been riding in the cart climbed on top. This proved to be a little challenging as one small cart couldn’t really hold eight full-grown adults, much less two giants. The dogs, also used to the routine, jumped up at Denney’s urging and found a human to cuddle in with.
Sylvie, playing on the moment, batted her long eyelashes at Hammon and purred, “Mind if I do?”
“Eh?” Behind his glasses, his eyes went wide. “I-uh, pardon, what do you mean?”
“There’s not enough room to sit separately on the cart,” Denney explained, already sitting on Conli’s lap. “So to avoid trouble, the women usually borrow someone’s knee until we’re through the path.”
“Ahhh.” Hammon reverted back to his usual good-natured expression and waved Sylvie forward. “In that case, my knee is your knee, Waverly.”
Sylvie giggled in true amusement as she slid into place, putting both arms around his shoulders. “You truly aren’t the lecherous sort, are you, Hammon?”
Hammon gave a one-shouldered shrug as he answered, “I have a mother and three sisters who made sure of that.”
“Bless them for it,” Sylvie responded, only half-joking.
Siobhan stayed on the ground and watched to make sure that everyone had found a good spot and wouldn’t be knocked off if someone shifted unexpectedly. She did not want to repeat that mistake. It’d taken four days to find Denney in that gods-forsaken marshland.
As she oversaw them, Hammon asked why they were on top of the cart to begin with, and Sylvie explained that it was easier for Grae to transport them all at once this way. Not to mention avoiding anyone accidentally putting a foot in the wrong place. Kit had been trained to put his feet only on the stepping stones, and the cart would follow where the reinmal went.
Grae came around to stand at the front of the cart, flask at the ready, and called back to Siobhan, “We can go!”
Good. Siobhan put one hand on the cold wooden side of the cart and looked around in slight perplexity. Well, everyone else had settled, but where was she supposed to go?
Wolf, seeing her confusion, extended a hand and offered dryly, “Need a lap, Siobhan?”
“If you’re offering, I’ll take it.” She gripped the hand he extended and swung nimbly up and onto his lap. It felt rather like sitting on a carved wooden chair. Wolf didn’t have a spare inch of fat on him anywhere.
He put both arms around her waist to secure her better and complained, “You’re too light, Siobhan. You need to eat more.”
“Wolf,” she said patiently, for what felt like the thousandth time, “Anyone would be small compared to you.”
“She has a point,” Conli piped up. “And Wolf, I disagree with you. Medically speaking, she’s in the peak of health.”
How had they gotten on the subject of her weight, anyway? Hoping to cut the topic short, she called forward, “Alright, Grae!”
The cart inched forward, wheels bumping and clacking a little as it crossed the multitude of small pebbles forming the stepping stones. She had no pathfinding sense and never had, but even she could feel it when Grae worked his ability. The air became softer, more distorted, and it felt heavy and humid. The area to either side l
ooked strange as two different landscapes mixed and overlapped with each other, their colors mingling into odd blurs. To the naked eye, it seemed as if they moved at a snail’s pace but, in fact, they were crossing spans upon each step. She preferred staring at the stepping stones the most, as they glowed under Grae’s power, sparkling blue-white and reflecting the light in a dazzling display.
She glanced at Hammon and found him staring with wide-eyed wonder, mouth slightly agape. “Have you never traveled by path, Hammon?”
“Once before,” he admitted without looking at her. “But I was a small child then. My memory is a little hazy.”
“Ahhh.” That explained his reaction. It reminded her that she still didn’t really know who he was. He had mentioned a family earlier, so he wasn’t an orphan. He kept presenting a growing puzzle to her, though, the more she discovered. Most people who were wealthy enough to be scholars traveled by path often. Why had he only done it once? And despite his very sensible, logical reasons in joining her guild, she couldn’t help but feel that he could have found an easier way to do his studies, especially if he was funded as he claimed to be.
Rain and drought, but she really wished they’d had a day or two more in Goldschmidt so she could have done some discreet inquiries about Hammon before traveling with him.
“Then basic rules.” Sylvie ticked off points on her fingers. “First, don’t fall off the cart. If you land on anything other than a stepping stone, you’ll leave the path completely and we have no way of knowing where you ended up. Ask Denney sometime about that.”
Denney stuck her tongue out and looked away with a humph, refusing to be baited.
Hammon took in this interaction with arched eyebrows. “I take it something happened.”
“It’s a long trip,” Sylvie assured him with sadistic cheer. “I’ll tell you the story sometime. Anyway, rule two: only Grae can end the path so don’t climb down until he says so. Rule three: if you do fall off, no moving. We can find you a lot easier if you’re not wandering around in circles. Isn’t that right, Denney?”
“You’re forgetting something, Sylvie,” the woman told her with a dark glower.
“Oh?” Sylvie looked innocent. Or tried to, although her lips kept quivering as if she suppressed a smile.
“Yes.” Denney growled out, “I know where you sleep at night and you’re a deep sleeper. I’d be concerned if I were you.”
“Why should I?” Sylvie snuggled in closer to Hammon, making the man blush a little. “Hammon will protect me.”
“Ah…” Proving he could play along with their teasing, he gave Sylvie an apologetic smile, “I’m actually a very deep sleeper as well. My house was struck by lightning once and I slept right through it.”
Sylvie pursed her lips as she studied his expression. “I’d best find a different protector.”
“I certainly would,” he responded with a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
“We’re almost through!” Grae called back to them.
Siobhan let out a subtle breath of relief. She couldn’t really tell Wolf this, but that steel hand of his rested right against her ribs and pinched a little. Normally, when he touched someone else, he took great care with that hand so as to not accidentally cause any injuries. After all, he couldn’t feel anything through it except distant pressure. He’d broken more things accidentally than she could recall. But she didn’t dare say anything to him about it—the last time she had, he’d been so regretful of leaving a mark on her he hadn’t touched her for nearly two months. She could put up with a bruise on her ribs rather than reliving that awkwardness.
The stepping stones faded, returning to their normal color of brown and grey. The distorted and humid pressure of the air also dissipated and Siobhan knew they were through before Grae could get out the words, “We’re here! You can get down!”
Wolf gave her a hand down—with his natural left hand—which she used gratefully to clamber off the cart. A slight breeze washed over her, causing an errant shiver to dance over her skin, and she grimaced. Sitting on Wolf might have given her a bruise, but at least he’d kept her warm. “No one fell off, right?” she teased as her boots touched the ground.
“Ha ha ha,” Denney shot back sarcastically.
Wolf put a hand on the side of the cart, levering himself up. “I think we’d know—”
Tran, an evil smirk on his face, reached out a hand and grasped Wolf’s ankle before yanking hard. Wolf had just enough time to gasp, eyes wide in panic, before he face-planted into the grass, sprawled out like an abandoned ragdoll.
Dead silence.
When Wolf didn’t do more than twitch, Siobhan dared to ask, “So, ah, how you doing down there?”
Without lifting his face, Wolf growled, “Me? I’m dandy. I’m so happy I’m eating grass.”
Tran threw back his head and roared.
With an outrageous twinkle in his eye, Hammon turned to Conli and asked mock-seriously, “Doesn’t grass have several medicinal properties?”
“Actually, it does,” Conli agreed in the same tone. “It’s quite good for the digestive system.”
Beirly twisted about in his seat to add, “Animals eat grass, so makes sense to me.”
“That confirms a few things,” Tran said to no one in particular.
Wolf finally rolled over to his side and lifted himself up, giving Tran a glare hot enough to melt steel. Siobhan had no doubt that later—when they were out of her sight and hearing—there would be revenge.
Well, as long as they didn’t kill each other. Shaking her head, Siobhan looked around. They’d reached the end of the path without mishap, bless Grae’s skills, and had come to the outskirts of Converse. Siobhan had been in, through, and around this city often enough to know it at a glance. Converse sat at the very northern tip of Robarge, placed at the opening of the Grey Bridges that connected to Island Pass and through the island to Wynngaard. To label it a ‘trading city’ would be a severe understatement. Despite that, it had never become particularly large. Goldschmidt took up three times the amount of land Converse did and saw far more livelihood. Most people passed through Converse and did a little business as they went, but few chose to stay.
But then, the high tides of the Mother Ocean could likely be blamed for that.
People who wanted to stay on the cart did—Fei actually went back to sleep—but most chose to dismount and continue walking alongside. Siobhan studied the city as they angled their way across the wild grassland and toward the stone highway. Quite a bit of traffic went up and down the road, either leaving Converse for another destination further east or heading toward the west with plans to pass through. The western gate leading into the city stood wide open and traffic flowed through unchecked. From here, only the tallest structures remained visible beyond the high stone walls. Bells tolled out over the city, telling the time, and she could faintly detect the smells of food baking, all of it saying no trouble lay ahead. She never quite knew with this city whether they’d be walking into a dangerous situation or not.
After all, everyone had to go through Converse to reach Robarge. Good and bad alike.
“Seems peaceful,” Wolf said quietly from behind her.
“Let’s hope it holds true,” she responded just as quietly. Now, next important thing to consider: how much time did they really have? It took a solid eight hours to cross the first section of the Grey Bridges and reach Island Pass. Siobhan always tried to give them an hour’s leeway just in case something went wrong—like a wheel unexpectedly breaking—so they didn’t face the dangers of being left out on the bridge when the tide rolled back in. Centuries ago, when the bridges were first constructed, they were meant to be passable at all times of the day and night. But over time, the seas had risen, cutting the travel time down significantly. If you wanted to pass safely and not face being swept away by the ocean, you crossed at low tide. By the time high tide came in, the bridges would be awash under several feet of seawater.
Now, let’s see…the bells had
tolled out the ninth hour just now. By the time they reached the bridge itself, it would likely be closer to ten. Thereby leaving them eight hours until nightfall. Ouch. On the one hand, they’d had new moons just two days ago, so the tides wouldn’t be as high as during full moons. If they walked quickly and didn’t have any difficulties in crossing, they’d make it to Island Pass. But just barely.
On the other hand, every day that passed without them actively searching on Wynngaard made their rescue that much harder. Did she dare delay for a full day in Converse and wait to travel over the bridge in the morning?
Siobhan stared sightlessly ahead and weighed the pros and cons. “Grae!”
Her Pathfinder came around the cart and stopped long enough for her to catch up to him before falling into step. His eyes scanned her face, reading her like an open scroll, and guessed, “You’re not sure if we have enough time to cross today.”
“How high is the tide likely to be?”
“Not as dangerous as the last time we crossed,” he assured her. “It’ll take a full hour after sunset before the bridge is truly covered in water. I think we have enough time and even a little leeway if we need it.”
He knew tides and seasons better than she. His pathfinding ability depended on such knowledge. Humming thoughtfully, she mulled that over before raising her voice slightly to ask Beirly, “Bei, how sure are you that the cart’s in good shape?”
“Might could break unexpectedly,” he returned, twisting in his seat as he answered. “Can’t predict the future. But it’s as solid as my head and won’t break of its own accord. Kit’s fine as a fiddle, too.”
If anyone became unable to walk, for whatever reason, she could just throw them onto the cart. Making a snap decision, she said to the group, “We’ll cross today then.”
Deepwoods (Book 1) Page 4
