by Jeff Wheeler
Lia smiled in the dark. “I regretted I did not the last time I ran off with you. I have learned a little wisdom since that day.” Then she saw it. “There is a light on in the stables.”
“The groomsman?”
“No, he should be abed by now.” Again her hand went to the hilt of her gladius. Must everything be so difficult?
“Let me see who it is,” Colvin said, increasing his pace, but Lia held out her hand and blocked him.
“This is my duty, Colvin. We go together.”
Without trying to disguise her approach, she walked straight to the stable doors and thrust them open. Inside, she found two saddled horses – Colvin’s and Edmon’s. The third was being fitted by a crouching figure who rose when the door opened.
It was Dieyre. He glanced at them, his face flushed from the exertion of saddling the horses so quickly. “Where are we riding?” he asked, cinching the harness and adjusting the bridle.
Colvin stared at him in surprise and loathing.
Dieyre peered over his shoulder, snorting when he saw the look on Colvin’s face. “Please, Forshee, do not take this amiss, but I am coming too. You can draw your blade and get humiliated again in front of the girl, or you can recognize that I am a better fighter, a better rider, and equally interested in what happens next. I had a suspicion that if I lingered, one of you would wander back. Or she would lead me to you if I watched her like a kystrel. Do not start, Forshee! I am not speaking of amulets, I am talking of birds! There are two of you, you say. Fair enough. But why waste time fighting about this? I can help get you past Pareigis’ traps.”
“Why?” Lia demanded, approaching Edmon’s horse and stowing her gear in the saddle bags.
“Not for the ten thousand marks,” he replied snidely. “You already know the reason, Lia.” His heavy lidded eyes flashed at Colvin. “You are either here because the plan was botched or returning for the horses was part of it. Care to enlighten me?”
“Not really,” Colvin replied. He mirrored Lia by unloading the foodstuffs into the saddle bags.
“Then let me see if I can help you,” Dieyre continued, tightening the final brace before swinging himself up by the stirrup. “We received word that the Pry-rian council was plotting to kidnap the Demont girl. Some of our informants in this Hundred spied your hunter…the bearded one…meeting with emissaries in some villages northeast of here. We have been fairly certain that he is allied to the plot. What you may or may not know is that he fought during the Pry-rian wars. There are men who have sworn testimony that he participated in some massacres after the fall of Pry-Ree. He is not just a simple woodsman, he is a soldier. There are many who say he was at Winterrowd with Demont. That he was part of the massacre there. Can you vouch for that, Forshee?”
Colvin looked taciturn. “I never saw him. The Pry-rians helped Demont cross the sea. That is all. There were none in the camp.”
Dieyre looked skeptical. “I have heard otherwise. They were there, Forshee.”
“So was I,” he answered defiantly. “And I was there when the old king tried to lure Demont to his death by sending false knight-mastons in the middle of the night.” He also mounted the horse boldly, sitting straightbacked in the saddle. “Lead the way, Lia,” he said, without taking his eyes off Dieyre.
“I want to believe you,” Dieyre said in a low voice.
“I do not care whether you do,” Colvin replied sternly.
“The king had an arrow in his back. It had Pry-rian fletching. The same fletching in the arrows the girl carries. How did it happen if it was not murder?”
Colvin leaned forward, his expression full of loathing. “Edmon’s brother was the Earl of Norris-York and he was murdered because he was a maston. He could have been arrested for high treason. He could have been tried by a court of his peers as per the law. But he was butchered and killed because of the markings on his sword. If you crave justice so much, why do you ride with a woman who flaunts the law and twists it to her own ends?”
Dieyre also leaned forward in the saddle. “Because I know she wants to kill you too. I did not think your sister would like that. I have tried all along to warn you, to help you, to win your trust. Think of it, Forshee. All of my lands, all of my wealth – on your side. On Demont’s side. All I want in return is your sister.”
Colvin’s jaw clenched. “You think I would barter her to someone like you?”
“Do not be naïve, Forshee. Of course I think that. Despite your pretty speeches about the Medium and fate and thoughts and old tarnished tomes, we are still men of blood and bone. You are afraid to let her choose on her own because you know she would choose me. Imagine what we could do if we joined instead of bickered at each other.”
“I have imagined it. You would want me dead as well,” Colvin replied. “I have seen how you treat other women. I have witnessed it, Dieyre. I will not put my sister through the misery of being your wife.”
Dieyre smiled at the rebuke. “Well said, Forshee. Well said. You have been practicing that insult, I imagine.” He twitched at the reins and made the horse snort. “You do not trust me. I can understand that. Trust must be earned and I am no maston. We can both agree on that. But let us also agree that I can help you. Obviously I am here instead of with Pareigis. I am my own man, not her vassal. So much of her plans are still coming together. There is time still to thwart them.”
The only light in the stable was a single lantern dangling from an iron ring on the wall. Lia could see the dancing flame mirrored in Dieyre’s eyes. He was anxious to ride. The thought of plunging into the darkness was thrilling to him. The thought of betraying Pareigis seemed to give him a glimmer of delight.
She had to admit that having the best swordsman with them when they caught up to the Pry-rians was tempting. She fastened her foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself up. The beast shifted beneath her, but she knew and was known by the animal.
“If you would betray her like this, you would also betray us,” Colvin pointed out.
“Very astute.”
“You are not promising that you will not.”
“Would it do any good to waste words that I know you would not believe?” He eased back in the saddle. “I am coming with you, Forshee. Whether you like it or not. You may as well use it to your advantage, as I am using your helplessness to mine. I have a feeling this is a hunt we will all remember the rest of our lives. Lead the way, girl.”
She looked at Colvin, saw the set in his jaw, the defiance in his eyes. Every instinct within him warned that they could not trust Dieyre. She could see it plainly written on the criss-cross of his eyebrows, the frown so deep on his mouth.
“You do not need to look to him for permission, love,” Dieyre told her. “He has already decided. He will do anything to save his sister. As will I. Do you need my help getting past the watchmen guarding the road? We are on horseback so I assume we are not using the tunnels.”
Dieyre was right. Colvin had decided. She could see it plainly on his scowl.
“No, I think we can manage well enough,” Lia replied. She needed to use the orb to find Ellowyn and Marciana. In the dark, it tended to glow rather brightly and she knew it would be difficult hiding it from him. She did not relish the thought of him knowing that she had it or that she could use it. The less she said, the better.
She opened the pouch at her waist and withdrew the golden orb. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw it. He looked at her questioningly.
“The Aldermaston gave it to me,” she answered, which was true in a real sense. In her mind, she thought of Ellowyn’s face. She imagined how worried she was, how much she had feared being abducted by the Pry-rians and forced to marry someone who did not even speak her language. She saw her frightened eyes, the dull color of her hair and let herself be drawn in to the need to find her. A safe road that would help them catch her.
The orb began to whir and then the spindles pointed clearly. Lia gave Dieyre a challenging look. “Try and keep up.”
&nb
sp; CHAPTER THIRTY TWO:
Shrewberries
Lia could not believe her good fortune in finding a thicket loaded with ripe shrewberries. The patch grew wild and was thick with thorns, but plentiful with dark pink fruit – surprisingly so considering its remote location in the Bearden Muir. It was late in the day and she was hot, weary, and soaked with sweat. Colvin and Dieyre kept up with the punishing pace, but she could see Colvin swaying in the saddle, exhausted by the hard ride and lack of sleep. Muck and mud spattered their mounts which foamed at the mouth with the efforts.
“Rest the horses,” Lia suggested, pulling short of the thicket and dismounting.
“There is daylight left,” Dieyre countered. “Ride on.”
“We have tortured the beasts enough for today,” Lia said. “Some of us need rest as well.” She crouched by the thicket and began plucking buds of fruit from the thorny stems. They were juicy and fat and she tasted their sweetness, finding only the hint of bitterness. The patch was in a well-lit spot, so the sun had ripened them. They were delicious.
Dieyre’s horses snorted and wheezed, but he looked around distastefully. “What are those? Thimbleberries?”
“We call them shrewberries in this Hundred,” she replied. “You are like as not to prick your fingers on the stalks, so be careful. They are very soft. You have to eat them right away.” She stuffed another one in her mouth. Each had hard little seeds that contrasted with the softness. “They will not keep, so eat your fill.”
Colvin slumped off the saddle and approached, his face haggard and weary. She recognized the expression – saw the tight, tired lines around his eyes. He was irritable when tired, so she did not speak to him.
“We are wasting daylight,” Dieyre complained.
Lia felt impertinent. “No, you are wasting an opportunity to fill your belly with something better than mushrooms. It is always wise to stop and savor what the wilderness puts in your path, like a coney or a deer. Always be ready for the gift and be grateful.”
Colvin pricked himself on a thorn and snatched his hand back. She had picked enough to fill her palm and offered them to him. Her fingers were quick and more dextrous than his. He took them with a grateful nod and started eating them ravenously.
She picked more, eating as she went, searching for the easiest fruit. Dieyre studied her a moment, scowling, and then swung off the saddle and joined in the feast. He also pricked his hand, but he did not accept any of the morsels she offered. After eating several, his expression changed.
“How far do you think they are from us?” he asked her.
“I do not know,” she answered truthfully. “We are not going the same way they did.”
“That is what I do not understand,” he returned, bristling as he had many times that day. “We are not following their trail, but we are going to where they will be. That does not make any sense to me. How can a ball made of gold know where they are going to be?”
“I cannot explain it, for I do not understand it myself. It just works.”
“But how? It could be leading us anywhere. Or nowhere. How do you know it is not pointing the way to Dahomey?”
Lia looked at Colvin and saw the muted smile on the other’s mouth. The amount of doubt and disbelief in Dieyre’s voice…he would never have gotten the orb to work.
“Dahomey is south,” Colvin replied testily. “We are headed north.”
Dieyre looked exasperated. “I know that well enough, Forshee. What I am saying is you are putting all your faith in a trinket. A bauble. You do not even know how it works.”
Colvin stuffed another cluster of fruit into his mouth. “I do not need to understand it to believe in it. You do not believe in the Medium, so how can any explanation satisfy you? Let it alone.”
“I did not say I do not believe. Only that I have never had the patience for it.”
Colvin gave him a hard look. “You are welcome to find your own road.” He looked back at Lia and nodded gratefully to her, rising to his feet stiffly. He offered her his last shrewberry. “I will feed the horses.”
She stared at him pointedly. “You need rest.”
He nodded, not disagreeing. “Let me help first. I will take the third watch, if that is all right.”
“Weary, Forshee?” Dieyre asked with a smirk.
“I have not slept in three days. It was all I could do to stay on the saddle this long.” He touched Lia’s shoulder. “Do wake me, Lia. When it is my turn.”
“I will,” she promised, wishing the Earl of Dieyre would stop smirking at them.
* * *
Lia blinked awake in the middle of the night, shivering beneath her cloak. No one had wakened her and it was quiet, save for the creak of gnarled oaks and the hiss of the wind through the leaves. In the distance somewhere, a frog croaked. She glanced up at the stars to see the patterns and knew at once that it was well past her turn for a watch. Was Dieyre being generous, she wondered? Rising on her elbow, she glanced around and found Dieyre asleep, head pillowed on his arm. She moved closer to him and heard his distinct breathing and was sorely tempted to kick him sharply in the ribs for falling asleep on his watch.
Rubbing her arms for warmth, she moved around the makeshift camp, grateful to see the three horses still tethered. It would be dawn before long, so she decided to let Colvin sleep. She nestled near him, on the ground, so that she could look at his face in the dark. Being with him in the Bearden Muir was so different now. Before she had been such a child, whimpering with fear in the dark, easily upset by his gruffness and impatience. She was of little use to him once her fears had mastered her and the Cruciger orb stopped working. They were memories that shamed her. Here he was, asleep next to her, his breathing so faint and shallow. She yearned to smooth the hair away from his forehead but dared not touch him. A flood of emotions came with the thought and she almost reached out before catching herself.
Folding her arms tightly, she turned away from him and gave thought to their course. Knowing the terrain better, she had determined the orb was leading them northeast. She half-expected to wind up on the Bridgestow road, for that city was a two day ride from Muirwood – a major port town that traded with Dahomey and Pry-Ree. She had been there once during the year, on an assignment from the Aldermaston to purchase supplies that could only be found in such a place. But if they were going to Bridgestow, had the orb led them into the moors to avoid the Queen Dowager’s men? Surely they would not be able to travel as fast. Or was their quarry taking a different path to Pry-Ree, knowing that the major roads would be watched?
The hunter is patient. The prey is careless.
She wanted to be careful in their pursuit of Martin. He knew about her orb. He was probably expecting her to hunt after him. He would be cautious and deliberate. She knew in her bones that instead of hunting after Scarseth, he had made a foray into Pry-Ree and plotted to kidnap Ellowyn. Having her so close to the borders of Pry-Ree must have proven a temptation he could not resist, for all his loyalty to the Aldermaston. Or had he made up his mind after leaving? She thought back on the moment when he left to hunt Scarseth. She had hugged him with affection, and he had looked as if he wanted to tell her something, but could not. Was his betrayal festering in his mind? She was so disappointed in what he had done. Loyalty was something the Aldermaston treasured and expected. But surely he had justified the actions in his mind. If Muirwood were to fall, then in what Abbey in the kingdom would she be safe? Why not disappear into Pry-Ree where her own people would shelter her and hide her, even though she herself was terrified of that prospect? Lia clenched her jaw, shaking her head. The girl was probably beside herself with worry. Her greatest fear had just been realized. Hopefully Marciana was keeping calm and watchful, looking for a way to escape their captors.
Lia plucked up an oak twig and twirled it between her fingers. She did not want to hurt the Pry-rians, for they were her countrymen as well. How could they free the girls without bloodshed? She did not know, just as she did not know how she was go
ing to free Colvin when Almaguer held him at the Pilgrim Inn. She only knew that she had to try. Her best hope, she felt, was in persuading Martin to release her willingly. To assure him that the Abbey had not fallen to the Queen Dowager or her minions.
Colvin’s voice whispered like a ghost behind her. “Is it my watch yet?”
She turned and looked down at him. Gently, she touched his shoulder. “Dieyre fell asleep. I only awoke myself a short while ago. I will wake you at dawn.”
Colvin snorted in the dark. “He slept?”
“He was probably more tired than he realized.”
“Do not defend him, Lia.”
She gave him a playful look. “I have no intention of doing that. He will get the last watch from now on. Go to sleep. I am sure you are still tired.”
He slowly sat up, twisting himself around to face her. “I feel much better. Besides, with him asleep, we can speak more freely. Do you know where we are?”
“I believe so. I think we are still in the Bearden Muir.” She said it with all seriousness.
“How can you joke,” he muttered darkly.
“Teasing is different than joking. We are threading the Bearden Muir towards Bridgestow.”
He brought up his knees and rested his arms on them, then lowered his chin on his arms. He sat very close so he could whisper. “Bridgestow has always been loyal to Demont. Years ago during the civil war, Sevrin Demont was in negotiations within Pry-Ree when the old king mustered an army to threaten him. He tried to cross back into the realm, but the bridges were all destroyed. Bridgestow sent ships to ferry him back, but they were caught and burned. Shortly after that, the battle of Maseve. I doubt the city leaders are part of this plot. I believe they are loyal to our side.”
Lia shifted into a more comfortable position. Their backs slightly touched. “Would they help us free her?”
