Kora stretched out on the second bed. Her eyes had just closed when Lanokas knocked, so she got up to give him a washbasin and to dry his sack. He left and returned in fresh clothes, his hair combed and wet and dripping down his neck. “What did you want to discuss?” he asked from the doorway.
Before Kora could answer, the innkeeper maneuvered past him. The smell of potato soup, even mixed with the scent of Teena’s rose perfume, made Kora realize how hungry she was. The sprite woman smiled at her as she set the tray beside the lamp. She left right after, and Kora, Kansten, and Lanokas wasted no time grabbing bowls.
“This smells sweeter than the fields during haycutting,” said Kansten. The appearance of food had brought them all to better spirits.
“What’s going on, Kora?” Lanokas prompted again. They were all three seated on the floor with their dinner. He alone had yet to dip his spoon.
Kora cast a sound barrier. As succinctly as she could, she told the others about the enchantments that stood between them and the Hall of Sorcery. “I don’t know what they are,” she finished, “or how many they are, but I don’t see why Petroc would’ve lied about this, and I doubt my magic alone will get us through.”
“You won’t be alone,” Lanokas reminded her.
“I know,” said Kora. She did not want to admit the terror that gripped her when she thought what might happen to the two friends who had risked arrest and borne hunger and storms so she would not confront these obstacles helpless. She had seen the most selfless person she knew die by magic, and was not keen to repeat the experience. Kansten, however, proved less concerned.
“Tons of sorcerers have made it to the Hall. The hocus pocus is there to test you, not keep you out. Personally, I’m more worried about Petroc, but not crazily. He’s technically on our side, isn’t he? He hates Zalski.”
“He won’t be pleased when three of us show up,” said Lanokas, as though they had thought until that moment Petroc would greet them like old school chums. Kansten’s assurance remained unshaken.
“We’ve fought Zalski. We can handle this man’s temper.”
“Zalski toyed with us,” said Kora.
“I wouldn’t call what he did to Sedder toying.”
Kora slammed her wooden bowl against the ground. Her soup ran over her fingers, but she ignored the burn.
“If Zalski had wanted me dead that day, I wouldn’t be here, end of story. I stand no more chance against Petroc, and that’s at my best. Take these bloody enchantments seriously! They’ll bring us to our limits before we even see the sorcerer, and when he sees I’ve got company, he’ll want to kill us on the spot.”
Lanokas looked from Kansten to Kora, his body taut, afraid one or the other might resort to shoving. He moved himself between them. “We all know this won’t be easy,” he told Kora. Then he glared at the other woman. “Don’t we?”
“Yes,” said Kansten, looking daggers at the other two.
“Good,” said the prince. “Any other concerns?”
Kora made a point of speaking to Lanokas. “I just thought you’d want to know what Petroc told me. I wish I had specifics.”
“Advance notice is advance notice. I think a good night’s rest will serve us better than sitting up speculating, provided you two don’t kill each other when I leave.”
Kansten rolled her eyes, a mild enough response to show Lanokas she had calmed down, and the prince took up his bowl. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s sleep in. Move on after lunch.”
“Definitely,” said Kora. Kansten gave him a cool nod, Kora lifted the sound barrier, and Lanokas left with his supper. Kora’s stomach ached when she saw how much soup she had wasted. She made the splatter vanish and pulled a hard piece of bread from her sack, grateful her food stores had been wrapped well enough to keep the rain out. Kansten, in a spirit of contriteness, offered a portion of her own meal, but Kora turned it down. She climbed back into bed.
Kansten was right to name Petroc the greater threat, and Lanokas to suggest they sleep, but the fact of the matter was the ancient protections around the Hall frightened Kora more than the man inside its ruins. She knew what to expect from Petroc: his mannerisms, his impetuous nature, she understood them both and believed she could exploit them. It was almost hard to take the man seriously when she compared him with Zalski’s level head and deliberate acts.
Not knowing what lay between her and the Hall terrified Kora. She burned to know what she was up against, burned only for an inkling. Even as a child, deliberate risk had never frightened her as much as tales about monsters or evil spirits, stories about things strange and unfamiliar. Kora’s sleep that night was like many after sitting around a campfire with Sedder and listening to his father’s ghost stories: far from restful, studded with stress-filled dreams, this time not of ghouls but of collapsing ceilings; of clocks ticking down to she knew not what while she was helpless to do anything, especially magic; sometimes there were jets of purple light. In one dream Sedder was with her, they could see the Hall a few yards away, but the ruins transformed into a tall, faceless man Kora knew to be Brenthor, the last leader of the court, and he sent a deafening, compressed jet of water straight at Kora that spurred Sedder to jump in front of her….
Dawn was an hour off when Kora woke from that nightmare. Outside, the sky had turned from black to a murky gray, and Kora slipped into the hall, grabbing her bandana, careful not to wake her roommate. She found the sitting room empty, though Teena had pulled the curtains back. The front door was unlocked. Outside, to find the last vestiges of night—an almost imperceptible mist, the wet stickiness of dew beneath her bare feet—was a comfort. Not far away, Kora could hear men bustling on the ferry’s pier, preparing the ship for its first crossing of the day. She shivered in the cold, and kept moving to keep warm. Behind the inn she found a barn large enough to house a few chickens, and Kora trotted around back to watch day break over the Podra.
Never had she missed someone as much as Sedder at that moment. He would have known how to quell her fears. He always had said the right thing, had never sounded condescending or made her struggles out to be more or less than what they were. She had never understood when he was alive how much she relied on him, and felt like a selfish child to want him near her now.
“Oh dear!”
A high, clear voice sounded behind Kora, and she jumped, realizing who was there. Teena’s rose perfume gave her away. “You shouldn’t be out with nothing on your feet, not after traipsing through that downpour yesterday.”
The innkeeper held a basket of fresh eggs and wore an apron, as well as a headwrap not dissimilar to Kora’s. She seemed less sprite-like than the night before. The difference was in her eyes, which were not bright yet, though by the time she cooked breakfast Teena’s gaze would sparkle as much as ever. That much was clear even to someone who had met her yesterday. The apron, too, detracted from the woman’s pixyish air; no fairy Kora ever imagined did such mundane tasks as frying eggs.
“I wanted to watch the sun rise on the river,” Kora explained.
“The colors twist on the water. I step back here every day to catch a glimpse of it. I have since I was ten.”
Kora rose to her feet, clinging to a new train of thought. “You grew up here? Did your parents own the inn before you?”
“I didn’t help much around here when I was young, I’d just sweep and gather eggs. I wasn’t home, you see. My father sent me to the town school run by a batty old woman and her senile husband. I learned to read and write, God knows how, and to add, which are things you need to know in my line of work…. Forgive me, I can’t remember if I gave you my name last night. I’m Teena.”
“Tranity.” The alias rose easily to Kora’s lips, for she had memorized the name on her false papers long ago. Teena studied her closely. Kora’s cheeks turned as rosy as the woman’s scent; she could not help but consider she had Ilana’s nose, and strong chin, and that the one portrait she had seen of her mother as a girl, done quite inexpertly, s
howed tight chestnut curls quite like her own.
Teena said, “A handful of my classmates were girls, not many. I was the youngest. One a year or two older would help me with my work, because I needed it. Unfortunately, Ilana’s mother died before we became close. We had different friends.” Kora nodded, attempting nonchalance, but her face grew hotter still. “A barren couple in Hogarane adopted her, and she moved a good two week’s journey down the river. Ilana kept in touch with some of the girls from school, though. They wrote letters. I heard once she married a man named Porteg. Had a daughter.”
“Is that so?”
Kora’s heart was slamming against her ribs. She peered into the light green eyes of the woman before her. She did not think Teena was a danger, would tell stories to a neighbor or to the army, but she could not take the chance. She could not admit to being Ilana’s child. Teena’s manner remained astonishingly disinterested. “Have you heard the name Porteg?” she asked.
“It’s not familiar.”
“We might all be familiar with it soon. I tell you, I was never so surprised as when a guard from the Crystal Palace stopped here about a week ago.”
“The Crystal Palace?” Kora feigned excitement, forcing a rising sense of panic to settle in the pit of her gut, where she could hide it. “Not one of Zalski’s men?”
“He was on his way to Partsvale and had a bit much to drink. Nothing unusual, that, but imagine my wonder, Tranity, when he mentioned my old schoolmate’s married name: Porteg. Kora Porteg, he said. That caught my interest, because I’m fairly sure Kora’s what Ilana calls her daughter. Well, this pilgrim—I’ll call him that, though most pilgrims I’ve seen don’t drink—I’d wager this pilgrim would lose him more than his post if Zalski caught wind of some of the things he said. Laughing all the while, too. He let out my old friend’s daughter, this Kora, was causing quite a stir in the capital, and he wouldn’t wish her neck to be his for anything. Zalski offered her something, some kind of paid post, and she had the gall to turn it down, to his face. I’m amazed Zalski didn’t arrest her on the spot.”
Kora leaned close to Teena, not to simulate further interest but because she felt sick and just managed to stop herself from doubling over. “This man, did he say something else? About Kora?”
“Only that if he was her, he’d hide his ass away and pray not to be found. His words. He’d met the girl, escorted her to Zalski, actually, and said he wasn’t sure she’d take the intelligent route. She seemed a mulish sort.”
Kora’s brain was whirling. The innkeeper knew who she was; whether Teena was threatening her or trying to help was harder to determine. They peered into each other’s eyes, a painful moment, a moment of truth, and Kora dared not look away. That would be as good as a confession. Teena gave in first, accepting Kora was as stubborn as the guard had painted her. The sprite woman turned with her eggs toward the house, her step’s bounce less natural than Kora remembered.
“You should come inside. Barefoot, of all the nonsense…. I hope you slept well?”
Kora could not bear to lie again, so she said, “The room was comfortable. Very comfortable. And the soup was delicious.”
Teena went to the kitchen, and Kora returned to her room to find Kansten, unsurprisingly, asleep. Kora shook her awake.
“Wha…? Kora, no, we….” Kansten yawned, and would have looked annoyed had she not looked so tired. “We’re sleeping in, remember?”
“The innkeeper knows who I am.” Kansten bolted upright. “I don’t think she’d turn us over. But she’s not stupid, she has to know there’d be something in it for her.”
Kansten scrambled from bed and grabbed her sack, forgetting shoes. Kora threw on her boots. By the time she entered the hallway, Kansten was tapping on Lanokas’s door. “Come on,” the blonde whispered. She looked frantic. “Get up!”
Kansten dared another tap, and the door opened a sliver with a creak that made her wince. Lanokas’s eye appeared, then all of him, groggy and confused.
Kora said, “The innkeeper knows who I am. I’ll say more later, right now we need to get out of here.”
The prince let his companions in his room. “No need to rush,” he said. “She doesn’t seem the type….”
“Did you hear what Kora said?” Kansten hissed. Lanokas sighed. While he gathered a few scattered possessions, Kora rooted through their cash supply. They had more than enough to cover the night’s stay, and she laid six silver coins on the end table.
When the Leaguesmen had packed, which they did in all haste, Kora transported them to the fork in the dirt path they had taken from the little dock the day before, one branch leading to a farmhouse, the other to the road from the ferry. The path, for the most part, had dried overnight. Only patches still were muddy, and those were clearly visible.
“Come on,” Kora said, and started off. They went single file to avoid the puddles. Kansten, last in line, pulled Lanokas back and tapped the sorceress to make her turn her head.
“What the hell happened at that inn?”
“I’ll explain as we go. Let’s get out of here.”
She told them about getting up early, which made Kansten shake her head; about leaving the inn, at which point Lanokas narrowed his eyes in disapproval; about Teena finding her, and what the woman had said about Ilana and the guardsman. “She knew me, I look a lot like my mother. Sound like her too. The question is what she’ll do with the information. She may just have been trying to help, but I….”
Lanokas assured her, “Caution’s good. It’s necessary. But if she wanted to turn you in, why didn’t she send for a soldier last night? She knew you right away, she had to.”
Kansten said, “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she wanted to talk to Kora first, make absolutely sure. The army doesn’t like false alarms.”
They reached the cobblestone path that led to Teena’s, and took the opposite direction this time, moving west. Lanokas said it connected in a few short miles with the main road, the road that crossed the Podra via bridge to head to Partsvale and its Shrine of the Giver and Pool of Healing. They stopped talking to stay alert, but met no one before the juncture. Half an hour later, some horses came up behind them at a gallop; the Leaguesmen stepped aside, since no cover was in sight, and the fifteen people who rode past ignored them. Pilgrims.
Three hours after the encounter, the Leaguesmen left the road and turned toward the mountains that dominated the northern skyline. The ground rose and fell in rocky hills that grew progressively taller and steeper. What looked like a forest lay to the northwest, and they walked that way, stopping to eat on the far side of a slope. As Kora sat down she dislodged a piece of parchment from her pocket, and it fell to the ground, Lanokas almost stepping on it.
“That isn’t mine,” said Kora, when Lanokas offered it to her. It was sealed with wax, like a letter, but unaddressed.
“It fell out of your dress.”
“Maybe the innkeep slipped it in this morning,” said Kansten.
“When we were walking back to the house,” Kora realized. She nearly tore the parchment she was so quick to pull it open, holding it so no one else would see.
Please, Kora, don’t be alarmed when you find this. If I don’t find a way to slip my name to you, I’m Teena Unsten. My family’s owned this inn for years, for generations.
As soon as I saw you, I knew you were the daughter of an old classmate named Ilana—you resemble her remarkably, your lower face does. Your hair’s bushier than I remember hers, but your curls are just as tight. From a soldier who stayed here last week, I know you turned down some kind of offer from Zalski. What the man wanted from you, whether you’re on the run or moving this way with a purpose, I don’t know. Your mother was always kind to me, and if I can do something in her name to help you, just say the word. I bet you have your reasons—and it’s smart, Kora, please remember—not to trust unknown people. Maybe my old friendship with Ilana will be enough to make me less of a stranger than most you’ll meet in these unfamiliar parts.
> I don’t believe in coincidences. I don’t imagine chance brought you to my door. Whatever you choose to confide or to keep from me, please know I’ll do all I can to hide, protect, and help you. Someone who defied Zalski deserves nothing less. I can’t imagine for the life of me how you did that—if I didn’t hear it from Zalski’s man I don’t think I’d believe it possible. I hope to hear your story one day, from you. Until we meet again, may the Giver, the God of all this Earth, keep you one of his own. I hope you found some comfort beneath my roof.
Kora read the letter twice through, feeling guiltier than ever. “Until we meet again….” She could not fathom the chain of events that would bring her back to Fontferry, or carry Teena south. Still, she had acted as she must. Surely Teena would not be offended; the innkeeper’s own words showed she realized Kora’s situation was delicate.
The secrecy inherent in the League was almost callous. Sedder had noticed. He had suffered from it, the fate of his parents kept from him, Kora herself a party to the deed, and now this.
It was one blow too many. A single tear slid down Kora’s face. She tried to wipe it without anyone seeing, but Lanokas was watching. For once he did not pry; he asked nothing. Kora put the letter away and said, “Let’s eat.”
Their meal consisted of stale bread with overripe apples and some nuts Kansten had saved, since they would keep, until the food stores were otherwise depleted. No one spoke much as they ate. They were so close to their journey’s object that as Kora peered up into the mountains she half-expected to see the outline of stone walls—but for all that, they still had a path to find, a task Kora suspected would be harder than Petroc let on. The search could take days, weeks, and they were nearly out of food. Kora could always use the transport spell to return to Fontferry, to buy provisions, but right now she hoped never to see the town again. She could not face Teena after slipping away like she had done.
After lunch they were off, continuing toward the clump of trees in the distance that rapidly turned into a wood so dense there was no going through it. They followed its edge westward, hoping they were moving in the right general direction. And then Kora saw it, but only as she walked past: a clear, grassy lane leading to the heart of the wood, a route as wide as the main road and better tended than the forest path between Kora’s home and Hogarane, though there was not a living person for twenty miles. Perhaps—Kora knew the explanation was true as she thought it—perhaps the spells of those long dead maintained the trail.
The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy) Page 25
