As he left Ru’s wagon, he saw the caravan master unrolling a map that showed the region around Erinon.
Not knowing what else to do, he visited Grub for an early supper and then went in search of Jhade. It had been days since they’d sparred. She still had moves he didn’t completely understand, and Rale’s admonition to continuously work the forms was always in the back of his mind.
But the real reason he wanted to spar lay elsewhere. The lots he’d cast for Ru troubled him. Giving the caravan master an unseen advantage in negotiating a price was wrong, but there was also the attack on the caravan to consider. The fault for that almost certainly lay with Errol in some way. In a sense, Errol was just trying to pay Ru back for his trouble. In that light his efforts to help Naaman Ru made perfect sense, but his logic failed to comfort him. Could he really make up for the attack by helping Ru cheat others? He doubted it.
There would surely be a price to pay.
The sparring session with Jhade lasted nearly an hour, and Errol felt a sense of accomplishment at its conclusion. The woman managed to touch him only twice, while Errol landed a dozen hits during their contest. At the end, she’d bowed, acknowledging her defeat.
Still troubled, he fastened the knobblocks onto the end of his staff. He worked the forms, losing himself in the rhythm of the dance. The weights on the end of his staff barely slowed him now. Rale had been right. Time and food served to correct the five years he’d spent drinking. Though he would never be a giant, he no longer had to look up at every man in the camp, and even if his arms didn’t become as large as Cruk’s or Liam’s, they were still strong enough to move his staff until it blurred. He wiped the sweat from his face and pushed himself to move even faster.
One day, he vowed, he would be quick enough to knock the lightning from the sky.
19
A CHANGE OF PLANS
AT NOON the next day, Ru rode back into camp looking as if he’d been named heir to a fortune. The guards mustered for their pay. Errol, as the thirteenth—a promotion resulting from the deaths of Norad and Jesper—took his place at the end of the queue. As he neared the table Ru set up, he noticed each man received his wages with a look of surprise. When his turn came to collect his pay, Ru surprised him by dropping a gold crown to go with the four silver of his allotted pay. The caravan master didn’t smile but tapped his lips with his index finger and nodded toward his wagon.
Inside, the caravan master pointed to a map spread on the small table. Notations showed Erinon at the western edge of Green Isle. On the coast of the mainland the city of Liester sat to the south, Scarritt to the north, and Ambridge was positioned inland to the east. “Never take anything for granted, my boy,” Ru said. “I expect Erinon will give us the best price for our grain, but circumstances have a way of proving thoughts to be foolishness.” He put his arm around Errol’s shoulders. “You’ve never been to any of these cities, have you?”
Errol shook his head. Until the past few months, he had never left the area surrounding Callowford and Berea.
“I didn’t think so. How necessary is it for you to know the cities before you cast lots?”
He shrugged. “Luis said I had to know it well in order to get an accurate draw, but Rale told me that if someone who knew the subject described it to me, it could be done, provided the lots are drawn often enough.”
“Would you be willing to try, Errol?”
Ru’s arm still rested in friendly fashion on his shoulders, but a warning of danger tingled up his spine at the thought of saying no.
“I’ll try.”
Ru clapped his hands. “Excellent, my boy. Stay here. I’ll have Rokha join you. She knows the cities as well as I do. You like her, yes?”
He nodded, unsure of the direction Ru was taking.
“Excellent, excellent. I think she likes you too.”
Ru departed, and moments later Rokha entered without smiling. For the next two hours she described Erinon and the cities on the mainland coast until Errol could see them in his mind. But she looked him in the eyes only once—and without the fire and challenge he’d come to expect.
For an hour after he finished carving the lots, the three of them drew, scrambled the spheres, and drew again.
Hundreds of times.
Finally, Rokha raised her hand, looking at the tally. “I think that’s enough, Father.”
The tedium appeared to have dampened Ru’s enthusiasm. “Which one, daughter?”
“Erinon.”
“Ah.” Naaman Ru looked disappointed for the briefest moment before smiling in Errol’s direction. “I see our purposes align, my boy. Your destination happens to be the most profitable port for our grain.” He gave Rokha a long look before speaking again. “I must speak with Skorik before we pick up our cargo in the morning. My thanks, Errol.”
As soon as Ru exited the wagon, Rokha brushed past Errol and departed without a word. Left by himself, there was nothing for Errol to do except leave and rejoin the rest of the guards. Outside, ale and wine flowed among his fellows. Locks were placed on the wagon axles to keep them from being stolen, and the camp celebrated a successful sale.
In the midst of the celebration, Ru climbed past Grub atop the supply wagon and raised his hands for quiet. “My fellow adventurers, earlier I could see your surprise at the amount of your bonus. As it so happens, our hides were in more demand up north than even I realized. I think it only fair to tell you that I had help in negotiating top price for our cargo. Would you like to know who?”
A chorus of yells came from the assembled guards. Some of them struggled to stay upright.
Ru smiled like an actor playing his audience. “As it so happens, Rokha and our newest member, Errol, are skilled negotiators.” He gestured to each of them in turn, offering them a small bow and flourish of his hand. “What say you all? Shall we keep them with us?”
The guards roared their approval. Rokha inclined her head briefly and favored them with a tight-lipped smile. Errol flushed at the applause and Ru’s obvious manipulation. He could not stay with the caravan. Even now he could close his eyes and point without hesitation toward Erinon. The church’s compulsion worked on him, though it did not trouble him yet. He left the wagons with the cheers of his fellow guards following him into the cool summer evening. The air here in the lowlands clung to him. He reached up and undid the laces at his throat.
Errol meandered, trying to work out Rokha’s sudden change in attitude. Ru’s daughter was five years his senior. He had no illusions that she would consider him a worthy suitor. . . .
But he’d thought they were friends.
Men drank and joked about the vagaries of women as a matter of course. Was Rokha’s sudden change what they meant? He frowned. No, it didn’t fit. Rokha, bold and alluring like a bird of prey, bore little resemblance to those pouty women who waved their fans and batted their eyes. Ru’s daughter wouldn’t ignore him without reason.
And the reason had something to do with Ru.
What was the man planning?
Frustrated, he sought a patch of open ground away from the noise and commotion of the caravans. He stood facing west and watched the sun cast its last feeble rays across the broad meadow and dip below the horizon. As dusk descended, he lost himself in his ritual of exercises, working them the way Rale had taught.
And stopped. He’d caught a glimpse of a figure ducking behind the edge of the last tent.
Skorik. Errol rested his staff in the crook of his elbow and walked toward the tent. By the time he got there the first had left.
The caravan pulled out of Dronfeld the next day. The wagons creaked under the mountain of grain Ru had negotiated. Days passed as they crept toward Erinon, lucky to make eight leagues a day. Errol ground his teeth at the delay. So near to Illustra’s capital, he could almost feel the pull of the conclave ahead of him.
One evening, as the light faded and the rolling hills lost much of their color, the caravan crested a rise in the road and came to the village of Corw
in. So close to the coast, villages occurred more frequently. They’d already passed through three that day. Each night the guards had looked forward to their reprieve from sleeping on the ground. Those who drew duty waited anxiously for their turn at the inns, eager to exchange their bonus for ale and beds.
As they parked the wagons, Errol unsaddled Midnight and led him to the picket line to place him with the rest of the horses. Rokha stood at the end rubbing the nose of Anoth, her stallion. When Errol drew near, she gave the horse a firm pat on the shoulder and strode away, the tightness in her back radiating tension.
He curried and watered his horse, trying to devise some way to talk to the caravan master’s daughter. Midnight nickered and nuzzled him on the ear, which brought a smile to his lips. He grabbed the horse’s head and scratched the patch of white between his eyes. “At least you still like me. I wish I knew what I’d done to make Rokha look at me like slime on a pool.”
“Women are hard to figure,” a voice said just behind him. “Best not to try.”
Errol took his time as he turned to face the speaker, not wanting to give Skorik the satisfaction of knowing he’d been startled. “Do you know why she’s avoiding me?” He tried, but couldn’t quite keep the challenge from his voice.
The first’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened. “I know only what Ru tells me. And right now he tells me that he wants an extra guard on the caravan. You’re last in line. That means you.” His hand moved toward the sword on his hip, the motion slight but unmistakable.
As thirteenth, Errol didn’t have any choice in the matter, so he contented himself with the knowledge that they would soon be at Erinon. He would probably never see Rokha after that. He nodded to Skorik. “I understand.”
The first nodded and walked away in the direction of the inns, but after Skorik disappeared into the shadows Errol’s skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. With a sigh, he grabbed his staff from his pile of gear near the picket line.
Besides himself, Conger, Sven, and Jhade had duty. Conger posted himself near the fire. He lifted his head each time he turned a page to check on the wagons nearest to him. Jhade stood as though she’d been carved from stone, her eyes unblinking and gazing out into the night. Sven kept close to the supply wagon. One fist held an oversized loaf of bread, while the other gripped a wedge of cheese large enough to feed three people.
“Pointless,” the Soede muttered. And it was. The village of Corwin probably didn’t even boast a pickpocket, let alone a thief bold enough to try and make off with bags of grain that each weighed seven stone. For some reason, Ru wanted to keep him near the caravan tonight. But why?
Bored, and frustrated by his questions, he made a circuit of the camp. He moved away from Grub’s supply wagon and smiled as the sounds of Sven’s gorging faded. Twenty wagons later he came to the head of the caravan, Ru’s quarters. The muted sound of voices came from within, and he slowed.
From where he stood he could make out the pitch and cadence of the conversation but not the words. Errol edged closer, stepping lightly to avoid noise. The voices belonged to Ru and his daughter.
“No,” Rokha said. Her voice sounded defensive.
“No? Does a dutiful daughter say no to her father?” Ru’s voice cut the air like a sword, sharp and pitiless.
“Does a father sell his daughter for a few bags of grain?” Rokha fired back.
“You’re being emotional, child. This is our chance to make a fortune.”
Errol’s ears prickled. He dropped to one knee as though checking the sole of his boot. He suspected somewhere in the darkness Skorik watched him.
“What if the church finds out?” Rokha asked. Her voice now held the measured tone that Errol knew well.
“They’re not going to find out. Only you and I know the boy is more than a simple caravan guard.”
Silence fell over the interior of Ru’s wagon, and Errol rose to move on. Then Rokha’s voice came through the walls again.
“This is dishonorable, Father. I thought better of you.”
The sharp retort of someone being slapped cracked through the air.
Errol gripped his staff and a roaring filled his ears. He’d hit her.
“I can see that I have been too lenient with you,” Ru said, his voice cold as the wind in Soeden. “A daughter does not question her father’s decision, and an employee does not gainsay her master. You will do as you are told. Now, I order you to find the boy and do as I have instructed.”
Errol turned and retraced his steps back toward the supply wagon. He kept his pace as slow as he dared. Rokha would be approaching from the far side. To calm himself he counted the grain wagons again as he returned.
When he rounded the supply wagon he saw Ru’s daughter there before him.
Sven looked in his direction as he entered the pool of light cast by the fire. “There he is, girl.” He took another bite of cheese. “Probably been out swinging that stick of his in the dark again. Don’t know why he’s even here. It’s not his turn for duty.”
Rokha looked him full in the face for the first time in days. “I don’t think anyone’s going to steal father’s grain tonight,” she said. Her smile looked forced. One side of her face showed red in the firelight. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”
His fury at Ru’s handiwork made it difficult to think. With an effort he took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. He needed to keep from arousing her suspicion. What would he say if he hadn’t overheard their conversation?
“How come you’ve been avoiding me?” The question came out before he realized he’d spoken.
Rokha shrugged and looked away. Then she took his hand and moved to lead him away from the supply wagon. “Let’s check the picket line.”
Errol didn’t move. Ru’s daughter tugged on his arm, but he resisted. Somewhere in the shadows near the horses, he felt sure, Skorik watched. They needed to find someplace where they couldn’t be overheard.
“The moon’s up,” he said. “Why don’t we get away from the smell of horses for a change?”
She looked as if she were on the edge of refusing but glanced once in the direction of Ru’s wagon and, after a brief pause, nodded assent. As soon as they left the circle of light cast by the campfire, her fingers wiggled out from his and her hand dropped away.
The hair on his neck stiffened with the sensation of being followed, but when he turned as if to check their position, he could see no evidence of the first. Errol and Rokha walked side by side, their shoulders nearly touching, but Ru’s daughter wrapped herself in chilly silence that left Errol floundering. He cast about for some topic that would distract her from her father’s orders—whatever they might have been—but every idea seemed to lead inexorably back to her servitude and his unspoken bondage.
“Your father gave me a gold crown as a bonus,” he said finally. He forced a chuckle. “The last time I saw that much money, I planned on using it to stay drunk on Cilla’s ale for a week. Now I hardly know what to do with it.”
“Who’s Cilla?”
Errol sighed. A clear image of Cilla proved more difficult to recall by the day. Even now, as he tried, her features blurred, became a combination pulled from Myrrha and Rokha. “She’s a girl who runs an inn back in the village I’m from.”
“A girl . . . running an inn? Is she your age?”
“I suppose. Maybe a little older. Her father—“
“Do you love her?” Rokha asked.
No one had ever asked him the question before. Love? Most of the guards spoke of love as something men and women did rather than how they felt. The church talked about love, but that was usually about Deas’s love for mankind or vice versa. He didn’t have the faintest notion of what love between a man and a woman meant.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Mostly, I just wanted to make sure she gave me enough ale to keep my thoughts and memories at bay.”
Rokha gave a small, sad-sounding chuckle at this. “Typical man. Only out for what you can g
et from the poor girl. Now she’s back there pining away for you.”
Rokha made sport of him. Her tone wasn’t unkind, yet her words held currents and undertones that eluded him. “Not likely. I think she looked at me the way most people look at a stray cat or dog that’s ended up on their doorstep. She gave me ale and let me sleep on the floor of the inn in exchange for pretty shoddy work on my part.”
“I think she might be surprised at how much you’ve changed,” Rokha said. “You don’t sound like the person you describe. If you went back to your village, she’d notice you in a much different way.” She sounded almost angry.
He shrugged, but the darkness swallowed the gesture. “I don’t think I’ll be going back, at least, not for a long time.”
“What do you think about me, Errol?” Her words had barely the strength behind them to make it to his ears.
His mouth went dry. He licked his lips, trying to think of something to say. What did he think? “I didn’t know a woman could be like you.”
“Is that bad?” The challenge in her voice was unmistakable.
He rushed to answer. “No, not at all. I never knew a woman could be fierce and beautiful and smart before I met you. Every time I see you I think of a hawk, beautiful and deadly.”
Her laugh, deep and throaty, sounded surprised. “I think I like that.”
Errol took a quick breath. “Or my knees go weak thinking about the way you kissed me.”
The laugh cut off as if it had never been. “I wish I hadn’t.”
He took a deep breath. This would probably be as good a time as any. “Because your father wants to use you to keep me with the caravan?”
A small quick intake of breath. “You know?”
“I overheard the two of you arguing tonight. When he struck you I wanted to go after him with my staff.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “That would be a very bad idea, Errol. Father is deadly with a sword.”
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