by Chogan Swan
“But I thought him merciful to such presumptuous subjects, which shows he has a good heart. You were lucky. If he had been his father, you wouldn't have gotten off so easy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pack.”
“I'm a subject?” said Boaz in bewilderment.
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Seth rolled out of bed and walked down the tunnel to look out on a grey, misty valley. A steady drizzle seeped from the skies. He doubted the sun would show itself this day or the next. Back in his room, he dressed, shouldered his pack and threw a large oilskin cloak over everything. He left the caves and picked his way through the puddles to Kane's room several openings down.
Kane was dressed and sitting on his pack, staring at the rain. He grinned as Seth entered. “A splendid day, if we were frogs instead of princes.”
Seth smiled, the knot in his stomach eased. Kane unfolded himself, slinging a leather lute case on his shoulder so it hung beneath his left arm. His scabbard went behind his left shoulder. Seth helped him arrange his oilskin so he could draw his sword unhindered.
Alaina met them on the path. Rain ran down her cowl, hiding her face behind a veil of dripping water. She fell in beside them.
At the far side of the valley, they threaded their way through the western pass, a maze of narrow cracks formed by towering slabs.
There was no sound but the rain as they left the valley and vanished among the rocks. They left the villagers ignorant of their departing; Seth would leave no traces for the Hand.
The western slope of the ridge was steeper and longer than the eastern side. As Kane had told him, it was no path for a horse. They descended by sliding down mud and wet scree through patches of melting snow and scrubby pine trees, following a ridge that ran south.
They crossed a bank of red clay that clung to every exposed inch. The drizzle was too light to wash it off, but the water still seeped into their clothes. That night, they ate cold food from their packs and slept sitting up, leaning back to back covered by their soggy oilskins.
The second day saw them off the ridge, beating their way through underbrush that tripped them and drenched them with wet, fuzzy leaves. At least it washed their clothes free of the sticky clay.
The trees grew larger and the forest darker. Leaves continued dropping water on them. So—when they came to a meadow—it surprised them to see the rain had stopped. In fact, the grass was almost dry. Seth scanned the area. It seemed safe, so he walked into the sun, checking the surrounding trees. Small white and yellow butterflies flitted from flower to flower. Bees droned, and a flycatcher had stopped chasing the lot of them to sing atop a flowering bush.
Kane stepped into the meadow and began a solemn dance about the clearing, shedding his wet clothes and pack. Seth pulled his flute from his belt and accompanied him with a marching tune. Alaina laughed and clapped in time while Kane jigged around and finished with a bow to the shrub. Then they all took dry clothes from the packs and shucked off the soaked woolens.
Seth sat next to his pack and examined with satisfaction the disappearing water wrinkles in his hands and feet. He leaned Gidrun against a rock and rummaged for something to eat. Alaina brought him some biscuits from her pack then sat next to him. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt and short cotton pants.
“Thanks,” he said, trying not to stare at the smooth muscles on her legs and bare arms.
He was just convincing himself the journey might go well after all when Alaina spoke. “You did well keeping up with us down the mountain, Lord Seth.”
She paused as Seth's hopes crumbled.
“But, the way ahead will be dangerous and you will need battle training while we are in familiar territory.”
“Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be fine with the training I have—”
“Please, Lord Seth,” Alaina broke in, holding up her hand. “Court training at fencing will be of little use in a pitched battle. We will practice when you have rested from your meal. I'm sorry, but it’s a needful chore.”
With that, she took her two water skins to collect water from a nearby stream.
Seth gnawed on a biscuit, feeling glum as he watched her go. He saw no way of avoiding this embarrassment. Though Alaina didn't realize it, Seth had decided where they were going. And, something else she didn't realize—the danger of underestimating people. It was a lesson Jyrmak had taught Seth long since, Seth had been making people underestimate him most of his life. He stood and picked up Gidrun.
Alaina had converted two hickory staves into practice swords by fitting them with lash-on handguards she’d brought. Kane chuckled.
“Not everyone will find this humorous,” Seth gritted. “You might’ve made things easier if you'd said something.”
“No one asked my opinion,” Kane replied then—with a sigh, “No one ever asks.”
Seth bit his lip and considered breaking both sticks and ordering the march to continue. It would be bad leadership, but it was tempting anyway. Kane tossed him the practice sword. Seth tested its balance, finding it adequate, for a stick.
Alaina returned with full water-skins. She dropped them in the shade and took the other staff from Kane, beckoning Seth to the middle of the clearing.
Seth sighed. Kane chuckled again.
In the clearing Alaina turned. “Show me what you know,” she directed.
With the tip of his sword, Seth traced a symbol in the air; it was the warning salute of a swordmaster.
Alaina's eyes narrowed, but she returned the salute, though it was easy to see she thought it out of place from Seth.
Seth suppressed a smile. He was looking forward to this. With a clumsy approximation of an overhead guard, he moved to attack at half-speed, sticking to the staggered grip for the moment. He flailed through a few elementary combinations, careful not to put too little force in his attacks lest they be unbelievable.
After a few seconds of this, he appeared to over swing and lean off balance then he pivoted at his best speed while changing grip.
Stick met stick with a crack.
Alaina's stick flew across the meadow; Seth scored with a light touch beneath the breastbone, his blade at the precise angle upwards.
Alaina's face flushed. Her eyes narrowed and glinted. After a tense moment, she bowed concession. “Would you mind another round?” she asked with strained politeness. She intended to give him a beating now.
Seth considered. It wouldn't do to have the whole matter festering. He nodded. Alaina might never like him now, but at least she’d stop treating him like a wayward child. He waited while she retrieved her staff.
They saluted again, and Alaina attacked. She moved even faster than Seth remembered from watching her practice.
Their sticks clashed in a furious exchange. He turned back her attack without giving away a step. Alaina moved back and looked at him with reappraisal and a touch of embarrassment. For a second Seth thought it was a ruse because a warning was jangling inside him. Then his skull exploded, and the world went dark.
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In a distant way, he knew he was hurt. He was glad the sensation was distant because when it came near there would be pain... a lot of pain.
It came closer. His head throbbed, and he struggled to open his eyes. Something hard and sharp jutted into his ribs and his dry, swollen tongue wouldn’t move. Rough hands rolled him over.
This made things worse; now his arms were beneath him, tied together so tight all circulation vanished from his fingers.
By force of will, he focused on an image that hovered over him. It turned out not to be worth the effort. An unshaven, pockmarked face with dim, cruel eyes stared at him. Even with the fog in his head, Seth gathered that bandits had ambushed them.
From the way his head ached, he guessed a leather sling ball filled with sand was the culprit. The face moved away, leaving a view of the sky. Seth turned his head to look around him. Kane, tied to a tree next to him, had uncountable bruises and cuts. Though his head hung limp, his eyes opened in
a slit, still alert.
Seth flexed his arms, trying to loosen his bonds; a rush of blood to his hands rewarded his efforts. He worked them a little looser, but soon he tired and blacked out again.
He woke at dusk when someone poured water on his face. With effort, he rinsed out his mouth and drank. A heavy woman with a set mouth held the waterskin for him then walked away without speaking.
He struggled to sit. His head still hurt though not so bad as earlier. His vision had cleared after the drink. Bandits stumbled around the clearing in the dark, bringing in firewood. The fire—when they started it—burned low and smoky for lack of dry wood. Seth hoped it wouldn't rain again. He was already shivering as evening cooled the forest, and the bandits had taken all his outer garments.
Alaina might be in one of the tents. With her speed, she might have escaped, unless she’d been surprised too.
A low whistle announced Kane was awake. Seth turned, moving his head with a wince.
Kane grinned in spite of his condition. “Shall we be going?” he asked.
“Alaina,” Seth said, “where is she?”
“In the farthest tent,” replied Kane. “Their scouting party spotted us as we came into the clearing. They had good slingers. They stunned her at the same time they got you. I saw you fall, so I ducked. They were all in a group. I charged them and got three before they took me. I won't be able to walk for a while though. You'll need to find a ride for me.” He chuckled.
“Why didn't you get away and rescue us later?”
Kane's expression turned serious. “What rescue would there have been if they were in the pay of the Hand? Even I can't rescue you from the land of the dead.”
“Why do you suppose they have Alaina in the tent?”
“I hope because someone is guarding her,” Kane said. “She'll bring a better price from the harems in Tarr if she's not molested. They'll have discovered she's a virgin.”
Seth paused, thinking. “How far to the nearest slave market?”
Kane pursed his lips considering. “Thirty leagues at least.”
“Which way?”
“South.”
“Good, nothing to worry about then,” Seth said.
“What?” Kane said, eyes wide.
“We're going the right way,” Seth said. “You've got your ride. Probably that ox-cart there.”
“Oh,” Kane said.
Seth wriggled back against a nearby tree. This seemed the most comfortable position he’d be likely to find, so he closed his eyes again to sleep.
“Nothing to worry about.” muttered Kane. “That's good, because for a little while there....”
Chapter 10 (Chains)
The three of them rode, chained in the ox-cart. A pile of dirty straw served as a cushion against the cart's jolting during the day and—though it made them itch—it provided a little warmth at night. The bandits had taken their clothes after seeing the quality of the material and workmanship. They gave them dirty grain sacks for clothes, but only enough for the barest privacy. Alaina still had her under-garments, but her armor and clothes had also disappeared into the bundles of loot.
From snatches of talk nearby, Seth gathered they were going to a market where bandits and merchants of stolen goods and slaves gathered for buying and selling.
Around midday, the leaders decided to separate. They’d stolen the ox-cart from a crofter in the lowlands to transport their captives and other loot, but now it slowed their progress. The leaders and eleven others rode ahead to take care of negotiating the ransom they expected. Kane had spun a tale for the bandits that made their eyes light up with greed. Of course, there wasn't a word of truth in the story, but Seth couldn't help being touched on hearing how much his uncle Wilbert doted on him.
Alaina was a valuable commodity for the slave markets alive because of her youth and looks. But—without the hope of ransom—the bandits would—no doubt—have made short work of killing Kane and Seth.
Alaina remained withdrawn. Seth suspected she blamed herself for their predicament. Seth didn't agree. Even if the sparring hadn't distracted him, they’d still have been taken. The slingers had been very good, or very lucky. Sometimes bad things happened, even when you did everything right. Alaina had been too far from home to know about the local bandits' activities. Chances of coming across someone else in this wilderness were low, but he knew that wouldn't stop her from blaming herself.
It's just her stubbornness… After all, it's actually my fault.
His mouth twitched with grim humor, but he ought to have circled the meadow before stopping. In his mind he saw surf on the beach again, swirling with red with bits of ice, washing Chanra's mane back and forth.
The bandits were trying to make good time, so—since Kane couldn't walk anyway—the captives rode in the cart. If not for the chains, Seth would have preferred walking. There was scarce room for Seth and Alaina to stretch when they both cooperated.
Kane wouldn't be stretching yet.
Seth still had flashes of dizziness, but he was improving. He fell asleep by accident three times the first day, but the morning of the second day he woke when the cart lurched into motion. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes were fingers moving with flickering speed. Still groggy, he thought he was hallucinating; the fingers seemed to be talking to him. He couldn't hear anything, but words formed in his head.
He forced his eyes wide as he fought off the stupor. “Wyatt?” he croaked.
A flick of the lash rewarded his question. His pain bought some clarity. The fingers were Kane's not Wyatt's, but the sign language that Wyatt had taught him years ago was also known in Raydcliffe. Kane continued finger-talking to Alaina, and Seth understood. He wondered how Wyatt had come by it.
Kane had signed:
... do not judge from appearances. I almost dismissed him too, but saw a different side of him early…
They’d been talking about him, but he didn't want to tell them he’d eavesdropped. He’d find another time. He shook his hair at the deerfly that buzzed around his head. They traveled through a marshy area now, and tall brittle reeds were rattling against the side of the ox-cart.
He pulled a sliver of wood from the ox-cart and examined it; the wood was heavy, dense, hard and splintery. He tapped the end of the splinter, an idea forming. He made a pile of slivers and hid them under the straw. The sack he wore provided threads that he worked into the end of each splinter and frayed the threads into a fluff. Since it would be impossible to get the shackles off without a great deal of noise and struggle, they’d need to take out all the bandits from here first.
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Later that day they passed through yet another of the marshy areas where dense stands of reeds grew as high as a man on a horse. The driver stopped the cart to empty his bladder.
“Can we lean off the cart to relieve ourselves?” asked Alaina.
A grunt from the driver seemed to give assent, so they hurried to take care of the matter. Seth broke off a section of reed and concealed it under the straw.
Another evening came. The bandits made their usual camp, posting guards at the periphery.
That night Seth woke himself, and, after careful preparation, began the call. They came, from rock piles and trees, threading through grass, looping down from branches in supple coils, scarce discerning between water, sand, or grass. They came—acknowledging his dominion—one, two or a few at a time. He sent each away until a certain small one arrived—dust brown and blunt-nosed with only a ghost of lines reticulating down its scales.
It wound its length up a nearby bush and over onto Seth's wrist.
Kane slept, but Alaina watched in silence as Seth held the krait and spilled its bitter nectar into a tin cup left in the cart from their supper.
Seth couldn't break his concentration, but he saw Alaina shiver. It took a long time after he sent the dust krait away before she settled into a restless sleep, perhaps she dreamed of quiet rustling scales.
The next d
ay seemed much like the previous, except that Kane developed a bad cough, but no one gave him anything to keep warm.
As night began to cloak the forest, the bandits stumbled about preparing camp, complaining about biting flies and the folly of camping in a marsh.
Kane coughed again, and Seth sent a splinter through the tube and into the neck of the hefty woman who had just brought them their evening meal. She slapped her neck and cursed, but continued to her tent. Seth leaned back. He’d now put a dart into everyone that would be sleeping in a tent. He looked at Kane.
Kane nodded with a look of grim satisfaction.
Dark closed tighter around the camp. There were only four that Seth had not reached, all of them sentries. He fought his tension—glad some of the bandits had gone ahead—the two leaders in particular. They both had suspicious, glancing eyes.
Seth clenched his teeth. Chained as they were, the three of them were still so vulnerable if they were caught at this.
One of the remaining sentries passed their wagon about twenty feet away—a long shot, but a miss would go unnoticed. Seth nodded. Kane coughed. The guard slapped his neck with a curse. He pulled his hand away and looked at it, holding it up to the moonlight. Then—walking to the fire—he held his hand to the light to look closer. He grunted and scanned the bushes then moved to the next sentry's station and whispered.
When the other sentry failed to answer, he nudged him, making him slump on the ground. The first sentry swore and bent to examine him.
Desperate now, Seth sent a fresh dipped dart at him, aiming for his neck.
The sentry slapped his hand to his neck again. “Wake! Ware!” he screamed, drawing his sword.
The third and fourth sentries crashed through the underbrush to him. “What? Where?” they shouted, peering into the underbrush.
With all the noise, Seth didn't bother to wait for Kane.
He hit the third sentry in his bare arm. The fourth one got his in the face as he pushed through the underbrush. Neither of them noticed. After a minute, the three sentries regrouped and stood listening in the middle of the camp.
