by Jasmine Walt
She clasped hands with both of them, and a rush of warmth filled Calrain as her small fingers squeezed his. He returned the squeeze, his anxiety fading away. The strength from their lovemaking last night still flowed through his veins, and it had done a great deal to bolster his confidence. In fact, he wondered if he would not have been overcome with anxiety today if not for this new power he felt within him.
Tariel made him a better man, there was no doubt about it. There was still fear and uncertainty, but overall, he felt much more certain about himself, and less jealous of Riann.
“Once we depart Lord Sowell’s, we will have good, fast horses and a head start,” Riann said. “So long as you can disguise us, there should be no reason for anyone to waylay us on the road. If Sir Jerrold should catch up with us, I am more than ready to fight him.” His tone grew fierce, and Calrain imagined his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Very true,” Tariel said, a smile in her voice. “And they will have me to contend with as well. I doubt Sir Jerrold has actually come face to face with a real Maroyan mage before—it will come as a great shock to him when he has to contend with my magic.”
Calrain wished he had a similar proclamation to offer, but he feared that his dagger would not be of much use in a battle against a seasoned fighter. And it was not as if Sir Jerrold would be alone—he hunted with a pack of elite knights who were nearly as cruel as he.
By the time they finally arrived at Lord Sowell’s manor, Calrain was foot sore and sporting a blister on his heel. While his boots were sturdy and good for traveling, he was not used to so much walking—his life as a scribe had not prepared him for it. He wondered if Tariel’s magic could be used for healing, and if it could soothe sore muscles. He had a feeling that by tomorrow, he would have trouble getting back in the saddle.
“All right,” Tariel whispered as they crouched in the safety of a copse of trees just outside the property. The torches outside the castle provided enough light for them to see the stables clearly. “I’m going to disguise the two of you as Western sea lords. Your presence should be more than enough to intimidate any servants we might come across.”
“Western sea lords?” Riann asked, sounding a little incredulous. “Have you ever seen one before?”
“Of course not,” Tariel said, amused. “But I’ve heard the stories, same as you. Even if they don’t actually look the way they are depicted, I can at least make us look like the way everyone thinks they appear.”
“I wouldn’t mind being a fearsome marauder,” Calrain admitted, a grin coming to his face. Everyone feared and hated the sea lords—they were fierce masters of the sea, and often resorted to piracy to fill their coffers, hitting port cities and bringing down ships. While Calrain did not have a fondness for criminals, the idea of being feared, rather than looked down upon or dismissed, was quite appealing.
“Then you shall have your chance,” Tariel declared. She placed a hand on his arm, and Calrain shivered as tingles raced across his skin. She did the same to Riann, then to herself, and when they stepped out of the trees, letting the dim light wash over them, Calrain gaped. Riann was a tall, strapping man with long, unruly strawberry-blonde hair and fierce green eyes. Like Calrain, he had a long beard and mustache, wore waxed leather jerkins meant to protect him from the sea spray, and had a large, curved knife sheathed at his hip. There was a small, round shield strapped to Riann’s back, and as Calrain inspected himself, he saw that he had one too.
“I wouldn’t have minded if you’d made me a blond,” he said, running a hand over his ginger beard. His red hair had never done him any favors—it was not a common color in Fjordland, and some who saw him automatically treated him with suspicion, thinking he was a foreigner. Calrain sometimes wondered if he was, in fact, of foreign descent—perhaps one of his parents was from a far-off country, just like Tariel’s.
That is one thing we have in common, at least.
“Don’t be silly.” Tariel smiled at him as she reached up. Goosebumps raced across his flesh as her delicate fingers briefly traced his jawline. “I think your flame-red hair makes you look quite fearsome.”
The three of them made their way to the stables, Tariel’s magic muffling their footfalls so well that Calrain didn’t hear so much as a crunch when he stepped on a patch of pebbled ground. The stables were a third of the size of Castle Tyrook’s, but still more than enough for them—they found ten horses waiting, much to Riann’s obvious delight.
“These are beautiful animals,” Riann whispered as he inspected them. The horses whickered and snorted beneath his hand, but he seemed to be a natural, and soothed them quickly. “These four are plow horses,” he said, indicating a quartet of identical steeds toward the front, “and these two back here are war horses. Very expensive breeds,” he added, stroking the midnight snout of one of the animals.
“The rest of these are older,” Tariel observed, scratching behind the ears of an off-white mare. “They will not be much good in a chase. We should leave these, and take the others.”
“All six of them?” Riann asked.
“Yes,” Calrain agreed, catching on to Tariel’s plan. “If we take all the good horses, then the guards will have a difficult time pursuing us.”
“Exactly.” Tariel beamed at him.
The sound of footsteps outside gave them pause, and Calrain froze as two stable boys entered the stable, holding a lantern aloft. The soft glow illuminated their frightened faces, and Calrain relaxed when he remembered that to them, he was a fearsome warlord.
“What are you doing in here?” one of the boys squeaked. He was likely the braver of the two, but even so, he could barely get the words out.
Calrain stepped forward, giving them a menacing glare as he towered over them. “We are taking these horses with us, along with your master’s bride,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “A beautiful woman like this belongs in the Western Islands.”
He grabbed them by the throats before they could utter another sound and began to squeeze. Looking over at Tariel, he jerked his head, and her eyes lit with understanding. Quickly, she waved a hand, and the boys instantly passed out.
“Good idea,” she said as they lay the boys down in the hay, tucked safely out of the way. “When they come to, they will only remember a Western sea lord choking the life out of them, and not a mage using her magic to put them to sleep.”
“That was some quick thinking,” Riann said, clapping Calrain on the back. “Now let’s get going.”
The three of them worked quickly, saddling the two war steeds and one of the plow horses, and loading the rest up with fodder. Calrain wished they could get to the larder and raid it—it would be nice to have extra food stores—but they couldn’t risk being spotted by the guards, or gods forbid, Lord Sowell himself.
“All right,” Tariel said after she’d run her hands down the last of the horse’s legs. “No one should be able to hear their hoof beats now.” She gently took two of the bridles and led the horses forward. “Let’s go.”
Quietly, they guided the animals out of the stables and away from the property, using the light of the small oil lamp the stable boys had brought to guide their way. Calrain worried that one of the guards would see the light. But no one came to investigate, and they made it safely back to the road, where they mounted up.
“This oil lamp is too unstable,” Tariel said. She ordered Riann to snuff out the light, and for a few moments, they were in total darkness.
Calrain was about to ask Tariel what she was doing when a soft white light drifted up from her palm. It hovered directly in front of them, just bright enough to illuminate the path for a few paces without drawing attention at any long distance.
Riann grinned, his white teeth flashing in the darkness. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Tariel chuckled. “It is not as easy as it looks. I imagine I’ll hit a limit sooner or later,” she said.
Not too soon, I hope, Calrain thought as they started forward. T
heir journey had just begun, and with the fiercest witch hunter in Fjordland’s history soon to come after them, he was not quite ready for their luck to run out.
16
The first hour of their ride was filled with tension—an anxiety that knotted Tariel’s shoulders and curled her spine inward. While she refused to show outward fear—she was the leader, after all, and needed to set an example—Calrain’s and Riann’s remarks about Sir Jerrold had her worried. She hoped that they could reach the Carlissian border before the witch hunter caught up to them, but in her heart, she knew they would run into trouble before then. The journey had gone smoothly so far, but such luck rarely lasted forever.
But after traveling for a while, Tariel’s anxiety gradually faded away. The steady rhythm of the horse moving beneath her was soothing, and she was lulled toward sleep, her exhaustion rising. More than once, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from falling asleep. She had used quite a bit of magic today, and though her powers had grown significantly, it was still tiring.
At least I have Calrain and Riann with me, she thought, glancing fondly at her men. Through the bond, she could feel their emotions—they were both elated and fearful, and not at all tired like she was. She used their high emotions to strengthen herself, keeping her eyes on the road ahead and the soft light from winking out.
She could not blame them for their fear—they were striking out into the dangerous unknown, and had destroyed any chance of returning to their homes—but she was glad they were excited. She had worried, initially, that after making love to her, and getting what they’d finally wanted from her, their ardor would wane, and they would have misgivings about coming along. But the bond had eradicated these notions—their feelings for her were as strong as ever, and the intimacy between them had increased her fondness as well.
“Here we are,” Riann said as they finally came to a crossroads. Tariel waved her hand, and the ball of light rose high enough to illuminate the road signs. “Now we must decide which way to go.”
They fell silent as Tariel read the signs. They would not go northwest, as real sea lords would do, and besides, she had dropped that disguise long ago to conserve her strength. Neither could they go east, to Varland. It was the closest port city, but too small for foreigners to hide in for long, and few ships traveled to and from the Empire.
“Our only real choices,” Calrain said, “are to go southeast to Kalsing, or south, straight to the Carlissian border, as we’d originally planned.”
“Have you been to Kalsing before?” Tariel asked Riann, referring to the capital by name, “or to Carliss?”
“No,” Riann said. “I was supposed to go tomorrow, with the other knights, but Lord Tyrook ordered me to stay behind and guard the castle.” His lips twisted with bitterness, and Tariel could feel his outrage at this injustice. “I have not been to Carliss either.”
Tariel bit her lip. “Neither has Zolotais.” She had already asked the desert spirit about it. However, she knew that Carliss was safer—they had an alliance with the Maroyan Empire, and were far more tolerant than Fjordlanders.
But… “Pursuit is much more likely along the road to the border,” she said. “Sir Jerrold will be expecting us to strike for Carliss. The last place he will look for us is in the capital.”
Calrain frowned thoughtfully. “That is a fair point,” he said, “and we are much more likely to find ships leaving for the Empire there than in any other port city in Fjordland. It will be much harder for Sir Jerrold to track us by sea.”
They turned onto the southeast road, heading for Kalsing. Privately, Tariel also hoped she might be able to find some answers as to her true parentage. If she knew who her Maroyan father was, she might be able to find his family in the Empire and gain an ally.
Perhaps I can get the queen to tell me who my parents are, she thought. A ball of nerves formed in her stomach—the queen was well guarded, and there was little chance of getting to her in the castle, especially since she was confined to her sickbed. But perhaps she could find some clues if she asked the right people some discreet questions.
They made it another hour down the road before hooves clattered from the opposite direction. Her heart jumped as she cast her gaze around, but there was nowhere to hide on such short notice, especially with so many horses.
“We’re a group of traders,” she hissed as she waved her hand, spinning an illusion of two strapping young men and an old man with silver hair and weathered skin. “You are our father,” she told Calrain.
“Me?” Calrain whispered back, panic in his voice. But he straightened quickly as the horses crested the hill.
Tariel’s heart sank as she counted twelve knights, all with Roisen’s sigil stamped on their chests. The marks they wore were blood red, signifying their status as witch hunters, and the man in front, a giant with silver-blond hair and a scar running over his right eye, wore a red cape to match that billowed in the wind behind him.
The hunting party surrounded them, a wall of hulking muscle and iron blocking any chance of retreat.
“State your names and your business,” Sir Jerrold barked, fixing his cold gaze on Calrain.
Tariel held her breath, hoping he could keep it together. She could feel the fear stampeding in his heart, though she supposed that his cowed stance was in character. Real traders would be just as afraid.
“I am Barrard, and these are my sons, Jesper and Farlan,” Calrain said. “We are simple traders, sir.”
“Hmph.” The witch hunter eyed them suspiciously. “What are you doing on the road at night, and carrying such little luggage? Surely if you were traders you would have wares on the backs of these horses, or better yet, a wagon.”
“A wagon would slow us down,” Calrain said without missing a beat, and Tariel silently praised him for his quick thinking. “My wife is staying with her mother in the capital, and she has grown very ill. We are trying to make it to her before she passes.” The pain in his voice was so real, Tariel found herself sympathetic even though she knew Calrain was weaving a yarn.
Sir Jerrold snorted. “I would suggest you not ride your horses into the ground on account of a woman,” he jeered. “She will be dead no matter what you do, and you will need your beasts if you are to continue plying a trade.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Calrain stammered. Tariel felt a surge of anger from him, but he hid it well. “We will be careful.”
The witch hunter was silent for a moment. “Have you any news of Castle Tyrook?” he asked. “I am on my way there to investigate rumors of a witch hiding within their walls.”
The three of them shook their heads. “We came from Soldor, further west,” Riann said. “We passed Castle Tyrook on our way here, but we did not stop, so we have no news. I do hope you find the witch,” he added. “We’ve had enough trouble with harvests in our region as it is.”
“Too right you are,” Sir Jerrold grumbled. He turned back to his men. “Enough dallying here. We need to reach Castle Tyrook tonight!”
The witch hunter and his men took off, heading in the direction Tariel and her men had just come from.
The three of them stayed still, wrestling to get their fear under control as the thunder of the hunting party’s hooves faded in the distance.
“That,” Riann said as they started on their way again, “was far too close.”
“The important thing is we survived,” Tariel said firmly. Her heart was still pounding, and the acid fear coming from the others wasn’t helping. She wished they had more time to calm down, but they needed to get moving again.
“Yes, but Sir Jerrold will reach Castle Tyrook in a matter of hours,” Calrain said tightly. He glanced behind them, his silver eyes filled with worry. “He will be furious once he finds out that you have escaped, and he is a very intelligent man—it won’t take him long to trace our steps and figure out we’ve fooled him.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Riann vowed, his voice filled with resolve. Tariel felt some of his fear fade
away, replaced by determination. “We’ve been going at a decent pace, but I think it’s time to push the horses a little faster. Let’s see if we can reach a safe place to camp before daylight breaks.”
17
They pushed the horses as hard as they dared, alternating between trotting and galloping, and managed to put quite a few miles between them and Castle Tyrook. The three of them passed several villages on their way, but Riann did not stop—he wanted to travel as much as possible during the night. Besides, these villages were too small for them to hide.
As daylight crested the horizon, gilding everything in shades of pink and gold, they came through a hilly region with scattered forests—a good place to abandon the road and go cross country. Riann led them to a shallow brook, and they rode in it for a while to confuse the trackers and throw off any dogs from their scent. Eventually, they emerged on the other side into a forest, and Riann began looking around for a safe place where they could tie up the horses and camp.
“Look,” Tariel said, pointing through the trees. “I think there’s a village on the other side.”
“We can’t—” Riann began, but Tariel was already riding ahead. He could feel her curiosity very clearly—there was something about this place that intrigued her. Cursing, he followed, hoping she wasn’t about to expose them all. For Roisen’s sake, they weren’t even disguised!
But as they emerged on the other side of the trees, on the outskirts of the village, Riann’s annoyance faded away. There was no smoke rising from the village, as there usually would be from inhabitants cooking meals over the fire. Riann’s skin prickled with nerves at the complete lack of sound—even at this hour there should have been villagers about, drawing water from the well or harvesting eggs from clucking chickens.
