"Two days."
* * *
"I wish you'd been less generous with the gold," Benjin said as they rode from town. "We're conspicuous enough as it is."
"We don't have time to wait. I did what I had to do."
"I know, li'l miss. I just have a bad feeling."
"Let's ride to the next town and see if we can find a cooperative food merchant," Catrin said, having bad feelings of her own.
As the sun set, Benjin began looking for suitable campsites, and eventually they settled beneath a grove of oaks. Compared to the chaos of the army encampments, the song of the tree frogs was like a lullaby, and Catrin slept better than she had in weeks.
* * *
In the light of Madra's fire, Chase wondered what would happen next. Here he sat in a strange land, far from his home, yet he found himself tied to these people by bonds of brotherhood and friendship. Their cause was not his, but he felt guilty knowing he would only leave them to their fates. In other circumstances, he would stay with them and help them reclaim their lives, but he knew he could not. It seemed hopeless.
The challenges ahead of Catrin seemed just as insurmountable, and he quailed in the face of them. Once he had felt strong, even powerful. In his sheltered world, back on the Godfist, he had always been certain he would succeed, but now his world seemed impossibly large and equally dangerous, which left him feeling insignificant and powerless. Thinking of his friends and family, he suddenly missed them more than he had ever thought possible. Across the fire, he noticed Madra watching him. Their eyes met, and he could not look away.
"You're a good boy," she said, and Chase could not hide his surprise. "When the gods first sent you to me, I thought you were just another test, but you've proven yourself to me. You're brave, honest, and hard working. No matter what path you choose, you've as good a chance as any to succeed."
Chase was dumbstruck. He'd never expected to hear such words from Madra. She'd always been gruff yet fair and harsh without being caustic. He'd always thought himself a burden to her and that his efforts had barely made his presence tolerable. Now, looking in her eyes, he saw something entirely different. The rough exterior had been hiding what lay beneath, and through the cracks that she allowed to show, she revealed a bit of herself to him.
"You remind me of my youngest, Medrin. He's a good boy too," she said and her voice cracked.
Chase moved closer and squeezed her hand. "You'll get them back," he said. In the next moment, his perceptions of the world changed once again as one of the strongest people he'd ever met laid her head on his shoulder and cried.
* * *
The sun brought a cheerful summer day to life, and it seemed to Catrin almost as if everything were right in the world. Honey farms and wheat fields dotted the countryside, and soon a larger town came into view. The streets were congested with merchants and beggars alike, both ready to part the unwary from their coin.
Benjin kept to the main thoroughfare and dismounted only when they reached the market proper. Here, guards patrolled and no beggars could be seen. Despite the added measure of safety they brought, Catrin feared the sight of them. Benjin tied their mount to a post in front of a place that sold wagons, not far from a shop that smelled of baking bread.
"Let me have the gold. I'll do the talking," Benjin said, and Catrin handed him the purse. "Good day to you, sir," he said to the wagon merchant.
"That it is," the man replied as Benjin wandered around the lot, inspecting the available wagons. "What can I help you find?"
"I'm not certain I see anything that would suit my needs."
"Most of the good ones have gone, and no new ones are being built, friend. You won't find a better selection in all the Greatland during these trying times. Perhaps this fine, single-horse cart would make your burdens lighter?"
"How much?"
"Four silvers."
"Two," Benjin countered.
"Three."
"Three and you include the harness."
"Deal."
Catrin was amazed at how quickly the deal was made. And she saw a look of suspicion cross the merchant's face as Benjin handed him a gold coin, not having anything smaller. The merchant handed Benjin his change in silvers as if each one were an insult. Benjin apologized and slipped the man another silver for his trouble. This brightened the man's expression considerably, but Catrin still sensed distrust.
After unsaddling their mount, Benjin put the harness on him and hooked it to the wagon. When he was done putting the saddle in the wagon, he walked to the baker's shop. Inside, all manner of bread, cake, and biscuit were on display, and bakers were busy taking fresh loaves from massive stone ovens.
"Greetings, friends. What can Amul do for you today?" asked a rotund and flour-covered man from behind the counter.
"I need as many loaves of bread and hard biscuits as you can sell me."
"Well, I certainly couldn't sell you everything since I've my regular customers to think of, and that would take a lot of coin, friend. Have you an army to feed?" the baker asked with a hint of his own suspicion.
"Sometimes it seems that way, friend Amul, but no. How much can you spare?" Benjin asked, and the baker visibly appraised Benjin and Catrin.
"Twenty loaves of bread and twice as many biscuits," the baker said after a moment's contemplation. Benjin paid him handsomely, and they loaded their wagon with haste.
Their purchases were starting to draw attention, and they rushed to escape the scrutiny. Before they left town, though, Benjin made a hurried bargain with a meat merchant, who sold them ten cured hams, and a blacksmith, who sold them a gross of horseshoes and nails. They had spent most of the gold Millie had given Catrin, but she was happy with what they had been able to get.
Fearing they would be followed, Catrin spent most of the ride looking over her shoulder, but no one came. Pulling the wagon was slower than riding, and their horse occasionally struggled with the additional weight, but it was overall a pleasant way to travel. When night arrived, they made camp in a grassy clearing, tied the gelding off to a nearby tree, and took turns sleeping under the stars.
* * *
Watching the night sky, Nat considered his fortune. He'd wasted a lifetime on the Godfist, fighting the preconceived notions of others, always having to prove himself sane. Now, after coming to the Falcon Isles, he found himself transformed from madman to teacher, pariah to mentor, outcast to leader.
The Gunata tribe had been wary of him at first, probably due to bad experiences with others of fewer morals than he. They were a primitive tribe that only in recent decades had come into contact with civilized people. Civilized--the word rang falsely in Nat's mind. Civilized: to be civil, benevolent. The term seemed more fitting to describe the unsophisticated Gunata than anyone from the Godfist or the Greatland.
The Gunata did not seem to judge one another or cast aspersions. They lived a simple existence where the tribe mattered more than any individual, yet every person was valued. Nat found it truly refreshing. Still, he had tried to avoid developing feelings for Neenya, but it was a battle he lost. As he had learned bits of her language, and she his, they had become closer, speaking a language only they understood.
During his trips to the mountain, Neenya was always by his side, helping and protecting him. When she told the Gunata of his visions, the elders seemed relieved, as if Nat were filling some crucial role. Nat wasn't certain he understood their reasoning, but they had taken him in, and they treated him as an elder. When Neenya offered herself to him as a wife, the elders approved. Despite the warnings in his head, Nat could not resist.
With the full moon at its zenith, Nat and Neenya stood before the elders.
"Zagut," Chief Umitiri said, and Nat knew that was his signal to kneel. Neenya knelt at his side, her hand in his. Each elder came to them and kissed each of them on the forehead. Chief Umitiri came last. He grasped Nat's head between his thick-fingered hands and looked Nat in the eye. When he kissed Nat's forehead, it felt like a hammer
blow, and Nat was thrust into a violent fit as visions overtook him--visions of Catrin standing before a charging bull with hooves of fire.
Chapter 4
In times of rapid change, those who do not adapt, perish.
--Emrold Barnes, historian
* * *
As Catrin approached the leather shop, staying hidden in the shadows, the hair on the back of her neck stood, and a bead of sweat slid down her face. Instincts warned of a trap. Trying to decide if she could trust Mala, she looked at her tattered garments and decided to take the risk. Benjin waited outside town with the wagon, and if she did not return soon, he would come looking for her.
With a deep breath, she entered, and Mala gave a start, her eyes flitting to the back of the shop. "Welcome, m'lady," she said loudly. "I'm just putting a few stitches in the last pair of leggings. Only a moment I'll be. You can try those on for size while you wait."
Catrin pulled the jacket on, and it was a good fit. From the corner of her vision, she saw a figure dart out the back of the shop--the cobbler, she presumed. The boots were ready for her on the counter, and she quickly put them on. The fit was remarkably good, and she complimented his work.
"The man has a gift," Mala said without a hint of a smile, and again she glanced at the back of the shop.
"I cannot wait any longer. I must be going. I'll take those as they are," Catrin said, and she jumped as the cobbler returned. The shopkeeper just continued to sew. The two exchanged a glance, and Catrin nearly bolted.
"Ah, yes. 'Boots. Two days.' I see you've tried 'em on. How do they fit?" the cobbler asked.
"They fit just fine. Thank you. I really must be going now. You can keep that pair if they are not yet finished," Catrin said, grabbing what was ready and turning to leave.
"No. That won't do. Here. These are finished now," the woman said, and she gave Catrin a sack to carry everything in. Catrin thanked her as she backed toward the door. Though there was no visible sign of danger, she ran all the way back to where Benjin waited.
"I'm not certain, but I think someone is coming after us."
"Let's go," Benjin said, and they were soon moving as fast as they could, given their burdens. Heading north and west, they hoped to intercept Madra, but as the sun was sinking low on the horizon, there was no sign of the army.
With a growing gap between themselves and town, Catrin began to feel safer, but she did not relax completely. The snap of a branch in the distance brought her to full attention, and she scanned the nearby trees. Nothing moved.
"I'll watch what lies ahead," Benjin said. "You keep your eyes on the road behind us and the trees. If we're attacked, let the horse go and follow me to the trees. Got it?"
"Got it," she replied, holding on as he urged their horse for more speed.
Just as shadows covered the land, they came, swift as the wind, as if sprung from the abyss. One moment Catrin was watching the trees, the next she was ducking under a whistling blade. Benjin was not as quick, and he cried out. Two shadowy silhouettes passed them and spun around, preparing to make another charge. Catrin quickly turned to Benjin. He was holding his side, and there was blood on his shirt, but his other hand was steady and gripping a sword. He made no move toward the trees. Wishing she'd brought her staff, Catrin opened herself to the power and prepared to fight.
When the riders approached again, Catrin was ready. Using all her senses, she cast out about her, searching for energy sources. The air was filled with raw energy, but most of it was disorganized; positively charged particles simply canceled out nearby negatively charged particles. Catrin knew, though, that she could extend her field of influence and gather like particles to build up a massive charge. Then, just as she could blow out a candle by expelling air from her lungs, she could use the air to conduct her gathered charge. With her hands held high, she hurtled a bolt of energy at one rider. Like lightning, it arced from her fingers and struck with a crack. The charging horse leaped sideways, crashing into Catrin and knocking her from the cart. She hit the ground only a breath before her attacker. He remained mostly still, his leather armor blistered and smoking.
As she pulled herself up, she heard Benjin grunt as he, too, was thrown from the cart. The man she'd unhorsed was getting up, and her use of power had left her trembling. Unsure if she could deliver another blow without passing out, she ran toward him and, doing as she'd seen Benjin teach Chase, delivered a powerful kick to the startled man's jaw. His head jerked sideways, and he crumpled to the ground.
Behind her, Catrin heard hooves approaching at high speed, and she turned to see the other rider bearing back down on Benjin. After dropping his sword, Benjin drew his belt knife and threw. It sailed, end over end, and the handle struck the rider in the face with a solid thunk. Benjin unhorsed him as he passed, and he hit the ground with a thud and a sickening crunch. He was dead when Catrin and Benjin reached him. Catrin's kick had left the other man unconscious and bleeding.
"How badly are you hurt?" Catrin asked.
"He nicked me a couple of times, but I'll be fine. I just have to keep my right arm down to stop the bleeding. Can you catch the horses?"
"I think so," Catrin said, her legs still trembling. "What do we do with him?"
"Leave him," Benjin said, wincing. "Catch the horses and get me to the camp. I need stitches, and I can't do this one myself."
The three horses were surprisingly easy to catch, and the two the men had been riding--both fillies--seemed very familiar with one another, giving Catrin no trouble. After tying them to a tree, she gathered what had fallen from the wagon and reloaded it; then she helped Benjin into the seat. With his free hand, he held a lead line that Catrin hooked to the fillies' halters, and Catrin drove the wagon, trying to avoid the many ruts and obstacles along the way.
Eventually, the light of the campfires led them to the army, and they were greeted by the sentries' swords.
"Hold!"
"It's Benjin and Catrin returned and wounded," Benjin barked, and a host of people rushed to assist them. Madra insisted on stitching Benjin's side herself, saying it was worse than he'd made it out to be. Meanwhile, Catrin told their tale to the crowd of expectant faces around her.
The addition of two fine horses to their stock and the wagon full of food were received with wonder, and this act seemed to finally break down the barrier of fear between these people and Catrin. Those who had shied away from her glance some weeks ago now gathered around her.
* * *
"This is taking too long," Jensen said as he watched the second new building take shape. "Half of us are going to freeze t'death if we don't do something."
"That's exactly what the Masters are hoping for, I think," Wendel said. Still weak from his wounds, he was overwhelmed by frustration. If he were fit to walk, he would have already found the underground lake. Now he had to look to Jensen and the others to do most everything for him. He felt of no use at all.
The men from the Greatland proved to be quite skilled; Martik, in particular, had an excellent mind for practical building techniques. His skills were useless, though, without materials. Wendel and many others despised the idea of clear-cutting forestlands; they were simply too precious. Individual trees were being selected and cut down in a way that left the forest intact, but the process consumed equally precious time.
"We may be able to use rock," Martik said.
"Might be able to quarry it," Jensen said, "but moving it'll be tough."
"We have seven horses?" Martik asked.
"Six that are sound," Wendel said.
"I have some ideas about ways to move very heavy things," Martik said. "I could get the rock moved. Perhaps we should settle near a good quarry site?"
"How much weight do you reckon you could move?" Wendel asked.
"With six horses and ten men, I could drag a warship up here."
"Come with me," Wendel said. "I have an idea."
* * *
As dawn cast long shadows across the camp, most were just rising,
but the sound of pounding hooves brought many to attention. Madra and another rider had been out scouting, and they were racing back. A crowd gathered, and people scrambled to secure Madra's mount as she dismounted before the filly even stopped.
"Mounted troops coming. Northeast. Prepare yourselves," Madra said, and her words spawned a flurry of activity. What had been a sluggish and awakening camp turned to a determined rush. "They looked like the Kytes' men, but I'm not certain."
Not long after, fifty mounted men poured onto the field at a leisurely pace. At their head rode the youngest grandson of Arbuckle Kyte, Catrin's betrothed, and she still didn't know his name. Millie was not far away, and Catrin went to her side. "What's his name?" she whispered into the suspense-filled air.
"You don't know his name? Shame on me. Shame on you. His name is Jharmin Olif Kyte, and he doesn't look happy."
Catrin turned back to him, and when he saw her, a nimbus of power appeared around him, outlining his form in undulating waves of light, like flames. Madra came to Catrin. "We must go meet with him."
"Perhaps it would be better if you went alone," Catrin replied. "He's not fond of me."
"Be that as it may, you must come, unarmed. He knows you're here, and he'll undoubtedly demand an audience with you."
Leaving her staff and knife with Benjin, Catrin walked beside Madra, a sour feeling in her stomach. All the mounted men behind Jharmin were intimidating, but it was Jharmin who posed the greatest threat, despite the fact that he, too, was unarmed. The skin on Catrin's throat itched, as if remembering his fiery touch.
"I had reports of an army on my lands, and now I find the Herald Witch leading a travesty that soils our fields. What makes you think you can cross Lankland without my permission?"
Despite his insults, Catrin chose to remain cordial. "I don't lead this army, and they do not follow me. Our paths are merely the same at the moment."
The Dawning of Power Page 57
