In the morning light she realized the sheer size of the crowd of pilgrims with dismay. There were certainly more than a hundred of them, possibly almost two hundred, plus a handful of priests and a few acolytes, distinguishable by the fact that they rode horses or mules and that their clothes were marginally cleaner. Thankfully not all the pilgrims were as wretched as the ones Peri had seen the day before; probably half their number were merely ordinary peasants traveling to worship. Most of them had gathered their scant belongings by now, eaten if they had food enough, and were preparing for another day’s walk.
Glancing to the south, she could see the caravan. Hardly anyone was stirring there; she remarked on it to Atheris. When the caravan had camped before, they’d been under way again at dawn.
“They have no reason to hurry,” Atheris told her. “They cannot pass around the pilgrims and so are held to a much slower pace. They will break camp much later today to let the pilgrimage get far ahead of them and take the other fork in the road ahead; the merchants will lose no more speed that way and will not have to travel so close to the sick and cursed.” He looked relieved himself, and Peri could guess why—the later the guards and merchants slept, the longer it would be (and the farther away Peri and Atheris would be) before they discovered his thefts of the night before and raised an outcry.
“Let’s see that purse,” Peri said in a low voice, turning her back to the pilgrim camp.
Atheris handed it over, and she untied the thong, glancing inside. She gasped, quickly knotting it closed again and hastily thrusting it into her tunic.
“You idiot!” she hissed. “It’s chock-full of Bregondish gold pieces!”
Several expressions flitted across Atheris’s face; he settled on anger and scowled at Peri.
“And what,” he said coldly, “is wrong with gold? We need money.”
“We need,” Peri said exasperatedly, “to stay inconspicuous. Merchants won’t send guards after a pilgrimage over the theft of blankets and a little food, but they certainly will over a pouch full of gold! And what happens if two characters as scruffy looking as us go into a town and try to spend gold coins, especially Bregondish gold coins? Where and how are we supposed to have gotten them?”
Atheris’s mouth dropped open in realization and he grimaced, chagrined.
“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I did not think.” He flushed. “I am new at stealing. And there was no way for me to assess the pouch’s contents when I took it.”
He glanced unhappily at the other pilgrims, most of whom were packed now and readying themselves to leave.
“Must I attempt to return the pouch? Must we conceal it somewhere and leave it here?” he asked. “Any such action would surely be noticed.”
“Well, we can’t return it, and we’re damned sure not leaving it,” Peri said distractedly. The weight of the pouch in her tunic made her shiver. “Give me another of those rags.”
As unobtrusively as she could, she transferred the coins from the pouch to the rag, knotted the rag tightly, and replaced it in her tunic. She scuffed a hole in the earth with her toe, surreptitiously dropped the pouch in the hole, and covered it with dirt. If someone had cast a tracking spell, it was most likely on the pouch, not the gold; that was generally the practice, because a thief might spend his loot at several different places, thus leading his trackers on a merry chase.
The priests approached their horses as if to mount, but one of the acolytes stopped them, gesturing at the camp. Peri looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary until she noticed a small group of worshipers clustered together in the general direction the acolyte had indicated. One of the priests followed the acolyte back to the small group, and although they were too far away for Peri to hear any of their conversation, the priest appeared more annoyed than disturbed.
“What’s going on?” she murmured to Atheris as quietly as she could. “Can you tell?”
Atheris glanced at the group of worshipers, then looked away, flushing.
“Someone died in the night,” he said. “It is not uncommon in such pilgrimages, with so many weak and sick. Come, we will draw attention to ourselves by taking too much notice.”
The priests mounted their horses and the procession was under way. No one stayed behind to burn or bury the bodies; Peri cringed at the thought of human beings, even Sarkonds, left out at the mercy of scavengers, but there was nothing she could do. She and Atheris fell in with the rest, on the outskirts at first, but as they walked they gradually worked their way into the midst of the group. Atheris seemed relieved as the distance grew between the pilgrims and the camp.
They had not gone far, however, when three of the caravan guards rode up and around the pilgrims, stopping the priests. Atheris tensed, and Peri found herself holding her breath; she thrust her hand into her tunic and shoved the wrapped gold into her sleeve, scuffing another hole in the ground with her toe. If the guards were going to search the crowd, she could drop the gold and bury it quickly, although she wasn’t sure what good that would do. If she was searched, her disguise would quickly be penetrated, and she doubted that Bregondish spies discovered in Sarkond fared any better than thieves.
An animated conversation took place between the guards and the priests; one of the priests waved in annoyance at the crowd of waiting worshipers, and Peri went very still as the guards glanced searchingly over the crowd. She felt as if that gaze pierced right through the robes and rags hiding her. Two of the guards turned their horses and rode directly into the crowd, glancing to the left and right as they wove their horses slowly through the crowd, and Peri’s heart leaped into her mouth as she realized they were probably looking for the stolen blankets or other recognizable goods taken from the caravan.
Peri forced herself to take a deep breath. There was nothing remarkable about her or Atheris or anything they carried openly—except for the fact that she was standing here staring and shaking like a child caught with his hand in the honey jar. Resolutely she relaxed, dropping her eyes, trying to mimic the vague curiosity she saw in the expressions of those around her.
One of the horses turned in her direction and Peri’s heart nearly stopped. She shifted slightly, moving her arm so she could feel the comfortable solidity of her sword. At last, however, one of the guards shrugged, beckoning to the others; they turned their horses back south and rode away. Peri heard a sigh and glanced at Atheris; apparently he’d been holding his breath, too.
“Next time,” she whispered, clenching her hands to stop their shaking, “I’ll do the stealing.”
“Yes,” Atheris breathed, very softly indeed. He stared unwaveringly at the ground.
The procession started again and they walked on. Despite the danger of her situation, despite the diseased and disfigured and sometimes horrifying pilgrims around her and the fact that she was walking ever deeper into Sarkond, Peri felt unaccountably cheered. The caravan guards hadn’t found her, and at least she was out of that wagon walking in the open air. The leaden sky above her was still sky, the rocky and hostile land under her feet was still land, and the faint breeze carrying the smell of diseased and unwashed flesh was still a breeze.
They paused at midday; those who had food ate, and those who did not, rested. Atheris pulled bread and dried meat from his pack, and Peri squatted down, trying to find some way to get the food past the bandages wrapping her face; then a chill ran down her spine, a vague but growing certainty that someone was watching her. Fighting to keep her hand from her sword hilt, she turned slowly—
—and found herself gazing into the very wide eyes of a thin young woman, hardly more than a child herself, a weakly crying toddler in her arms. The baby’s thin face was covered by an angry red rash, and the woman was staring not at Peri, but at the bread and meat in her hand. Peri held out the food, nodding encouragingly; the girl hesitated for a moment, then took it, mumbling her thanks. She started to turn away. Peri debated with herself one second longer, then touched the girl’s shoulder, cursing her disguise, and g
estured at the child. The girl’s eyes widened and she clutched her baby tightly, protectively.
Atheris muttered a curse under his breath, which Peri heard, but he stepped forward, smiling reassuringly.
“My friend has helped treat the sick before,” he said. “He wishes only to look at your child.”
The girl hesitated again, glancing suspiciously at Peri.
“If he is a healer,” she asked timidly, “why is he so covered?”
“He is not a healer, of course,” Atheris said quickly. “He only has a little healing lore. He was badly burned in a border skirmish, terribly scarred and rendered mute. When he could no longer act as a warrior, he served instead by assisting the healers in tending the wounded.”
The girl still hesitated, but at last she laid her baby down on the ground, unwrapping the cloth in which she’d been carrying it. Peri inspected the rash which dappled the baby’s body; she’d seen the like before several times. Gesturing reassuringly at the mother, she bent down to smell the baby’s breath. Once more cursing the necessity of her silence, she pointed at the baby and made a retching sound, miming vomiting.
“Yes,” the girl said timidly. “He is often sick.”
Peri sighed. There was no possible way she could convey what she wanted to say by gestures. She stood and took Atheris’s arm, pulling him aside.
“Watch my hands while we talk,” she whispered, moving her hands and fingers through an intricate series of gestures. She knew she was safe enough using the hand talk, although of course Atheris probably didn’t understand it; most countries used one form of it or another in hunts or in battle when silence was crucial. “When we go back, tell her that it’s her milk that sickens the baby. He needs goat’s milk—not cow, goat.”
“And where,” Atheris whispered patiently, “is she to get goat’s milk?”
Peri ground her teeth and hunkered down on her heels, huddling in on herself. She reached into her tunic and fumbled one of the gold coins loose. She scrabbled through the dirt until she found two rocks and as unobtrusively as she could slid the coin between them, then hammered the rocks together hard until the markings on the coin were completely obliterated. She continued hammering until she broke a piece off of the now shapeless coin; sliding the larger part into her pocket, she handed the fragment to Atheris.
“I’ve seen a couple goats in the crowd,” she whispered. “That ought to buy one of them.” She glanced around again. “Remind me to crush up the rest of those coins whenever we get a chance.”
Atheris returned to the girl and her child. Peri did not hear their conversation, but she saw the girl take the bit of gold in trembling fingers, her eyes wide. Then the girl stood slowly, walked to Peri, and to Peri’s profound discomfort, dropped to her knees in the dirt.
“Thank you, wise one,” the girl whispered. “Bless you for saving my baby. May you find mercy and ease from your suffering in Eregis’s touch which heals all ills.” Then she was gone.
Peri shivered. Maybe it was her understanding of Sarkondish which was flawed, but the odd wording of the girl’s blessing sent a chill down her spine.
“That was foolish,” Atheris murmured, returning to Peri’s side. “Others saw what you did. Now they will spread word that you have some of the healing art, and that is woman’s magic, not man’s. It will cause talk. We will be fortunate if that does not draw the priests’ attention.”
Peri ground her teeth again in frustration and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Besides, why should she bother to defend herself? She was mute, after all.
Fortunately, when Atheris might have pressed the argument, the priests mounted their horses and the procession was moving again. Peri fell in gratefully, not watching to see whether Atheris walked beside her.
They walked from midday to sunset without pause. For Peri it was no great hardship; she was well accustomed to walking, riding, or running long distances, and her load was not that heavy. She was surprised to see that Atheris also held up well under the pace. She’d had him pretty much figured as a temple-bound mage, brave enough perhaps, but soft. Still, there’d been the empty scabbard and his reference to sword training. And sheltered or not, he’d obviously done something sufficient to warrant all this pursuit.
And tonight she’d find out exactly what that was.
At sunset they camped at a crossroads; the merchants and their caravan took the fork in the road which presumably led to Darnalek, and a small group of pilgrims coming down the same road joined the camp. At Peri’s surreptitious urging, Atheris traded another hammered bit of gold for a sturdy javelin carried by an ex-soldier with a withered arm. Carefully broken in half, the javelin made two serviceable tent poles and gave Peri a little badly needed privacy.
Peri checked Atheris’s wound immediately, while there was still enough sunlight to see by. She was relieved—and Atheris amazed—to see that both the entry wound on his side and the exit wound on his back were well on the way to healing with no sign of infection. She made a new poultice and dressed the wounds again. The cuts on Atheris’s hand and her arm were healing well also, and the exercise had largely eased the stiffness from her bruised ribs; all in all, she felt rather proud of her efforts.
When Atheris had secured the flaps of their tent for the night, however, and Peri would have unwound the rags hiding her face, he shook his head.
“No,” he said, very softly. “There is too much danger of discovery. You must stay hidden so long as there are people around us.”
Annoyed, Peri sighed, but she left the rags in place, settling herself back against her pack.
“Can we at least talk?” she whispered.
“How can we?” Atheris returned just as quietly. “You are supposed to be mute. And even were that not so, anything we could say to each other must not be overheard.”
“Look,” Peri whispered, nearly inaudibly. “I’ve done an awful lot, come an awfully long ways, on trust of somebody I’ve got no reason at all to trust, and a couple hundred years of reasons not to. I’ve gone about as far as I’m willing to go without some explanations. Now, either you’re going to find some way to tell me about these Bone Hunters—who they are, why they’re so interested in you, what’s going to happen—or tomorrow this pilgrim’s going to take her chances on this disguise in the city long enough to get hold of a horse and head back south. And you can take that to the market and trade it for ten sacks of grain and a cask of good wine.”
“Ten sacks of—” Atheris said blankly.
“Never mind,” Peri said irritably. “Agrondish saying. All it means is I’m deadly serious.”
Atheris was silent for a long moment.
“Lie down,” he said at last.
Peri took a deep breath to calm herself and settled herself on the ground as comfortably as she could. She almost bolted upright when Atheris curled up against her side, his arm around her waist. She could feel the wiry muscle in his arm, his chest against her side. She waited for a moment, breathing hard, her body tingling where he touched her, fearing some unthinkable advance on Atheris’s part, but he made no further move and slowly she relaxed.
“We can talk now,” Atheris murmured in her ear. “If anyone discovers us like this, two men apparently lovers, we will be driven out of the pilgrimage as deviates, but that would be less disastrous to us both than the course you suggest. You have no idea what the Bone Hunters would do with you if they captured you, and if you were to strike out on your own in this land, that they most certainly would do.”
“All right,” Peri whispered. Part of her ached to pull away from him, but another part perversely took comfort in his solid human presence. “Tell me.”
“I am under sentence of death by torture by the Bonemarch,” Atheris said simply, “for forbidden magical practices.”
Peri waited, but Atheris said nothing further, as if he had explained everything in that one sentence.
“What forbidden magical practice?” she whispered patiently.
“The pr
actice of women’s magic,” he answered after a long pause. “Life magic.”
“All right, skip that for the moment,” Peri whispered. “Who’s this Bonemarch?”
“They are the ruling council of the temples, nine priests and priestesses, one representing each of the greater temples,” Atheris told her. “They dwell in the oldest temple, the one at Rocarran where this pilgrimage is bound, make and administer temple law. They judge crimes within and against the temples.”
“What, such as practicing the wrong kind of magic?” Peri asked. She shivered, realizing it was growing colder out; unconsciously she scooted a little closer to Atheris.
“Exactly.” Atheris was silent again for a moment. “My crime was considered almost unthinkable. I knew this when I committed it; I knew the punishment I would receive. But I hoped that I would accomplish something miraculous, something of such significance that my transgression would seem small in comparison with the benefits gained. Instead it went wrong and I accomplished nothing, only hurt one I cared for greatly. So I fled ahead of a sentence of death by torture, and the Bonemarch dispatched the Bone Hunters to bring me back at all costs. What I did was dangerous to the Bonemarch. That it might become known, even more dangerous. That I might successfully escape the judgment of the temples for my actions, more dangerous still—and that I might take all this knowledge to the lands of our enemies, most dangerous of all.”
Peri could have groaned. She’d set out to rescue heroically what she’d believed to be a Bregond captured by Sarkonds. Instead she’d abandoned her family and her duty to rescue (quite clumsily, in fact) not only an enemy, but not even an important enemy—a common heretic.
Waterdance Page 8
