* * *
A silent group mounted up to continue the trip north shortly after sunup the next morning. Vagrum and Rexall seemed to be suffering from an unspecified ailment whose symptoms included sensitivity to light, an aversion to loud noises, and general grumpiness. They claimed that having spent almost all of the previous evening in the common room catching up on local gossip wasn’t related. Meanwhile, Alicia was hampered by the ill effects of too little sleep. After not being able to nod off until well past midnight, she had awakened screaming, crying, and in a cold sweat after suffering a nightmare. Kara had done her best to offer comfort, but Alicia had lain awake for another hour before succumbing to a fitful, restless slumber.
They traveled as they had since leaving Vantok, in the guise of a minor noblewoman from the city headed into the wild lands of the North to marry a rich guard captain of Obis. She was accompanied by her governess, her horse master, and her personal bodyguard, an ex-military man of fearsome repute. The fiction was close enough to the truth that they didn’t have to work too hard to slide into their new identities; all except Alicia used their real names. She had adopted the persona of “Lady Arabelle.”
Despite Alicia’s asserted willingness to “sleep rough” and save the coin needed to rent rooms at inns, Vagrum had insisted that, as long as they could afford it, they would take accommodations of the sort a young woman like Lady Arabelle would be expected to enjoy. No self-respecting noblewoman, no matter how poor, would be caught dead sleeping in the open under the stars. That was for vagabonds, runaways, mercenaries, and bandits. By sleeping in the stables as male servants often did, Rexall and Vagrum were able to find a clean, dry place to bed down without having to pay the full room rate. Any coins thus saved were invariably lost in small games of chance and paying the common room tab.
Thus far, there had been no signs of pursuit, which worried Alicia. She had envisioned her first day out of Vantok to be a mad dash north with corps of Azarak’s crack troops close on her heels. Instead, their horses never moved faster than a canter and they covered only about thirty miles. The few soldiers they encountered were headed the other way and the only thing they were chasing was a good night’s sleep or a roll in the hay with a whore.
Every night during that first week, at seven different roadside inns, Rexall and Vagrum had lounged in the common rooms, soaking in as much gossip as they could. They had heard a great many things, including a rumor that King Azarak was about to announce his engagement to a princess from the north, but nothing was ever mentioned about the escaped Wizard’s Bride. No reward was offered. The name “Alicia” never came up in any conversation. No solider or mercenary gave an indication of being on a duty other than normal patrol. If Alicia didn’t know better, she would have assumed her flight had gone unnoticed or wasn’t of great concern to anyone. But she did know better...
Vagrum had suggested the obvious answer. “If Ferguson is in charge of the search, which makes sense since you were confined in the temple, he wouldn’t use soldiers. Maybe it’s the priests we need to be wary of.”
So they watched out for priests as well as soldiers, but the former were more difficult to identify. Priests, when not dressed in ecclesiastical garb, could blend in with non-religious peasants. They could pose as merchants, farmers, or random travelers. That made it impossible to avoid them. If Ferguson’s spy network was as advanced as Alicia suspected, she and her party had likely already been spotted and the leaders in Vantok were aware of her location. They hadn’t made a move yet, but how long until they did?
The road today was less crowded than farther south. This was only to be expected since they were beyond the busy Vantok-to-Basingham routes. Past the intersection with the east-west artery to Basingham, the road narrowed and was less rigorously maintained. Ruts were deeper and more numerous and there were places where erosion had washed out small sections. The only ones traveling this byway were larger groups on long trips or smaller groups bound for the lesser villages dotted around the southern countryside.
The road's ultimate destination was Widow’s Pass, the only navigable passage through The Broken Crags. But that was ten days away. According to Vagrum, who had ventured across The Crags on several occasions, they would spend over a week in the mountains negotiating the treacherous route which was in places little more than a single-file goat path with sheer drops on one or both sides. When they made it to the northern egress, the remaining journey would require another seven or eight days, and that would be through some of the least hospitable terrain on the continent: a bleak tundra so flat that there was nothing to block the howling northerly wind. Altogether, they were looking at a trip of as much as five weeks. If they were lucky, Vagrum opined, they might catch Sorial in the mountains or at the far side. He would have to use Widow’s Pass like everyone else without wings unless Warburm planned to guide him all the way east to Earlford and up the coast, an approach that would add weeks to his trek.
When they stopped for their noontime rest and meal - the usual ration of dried meat, stale bread, raisins, and a few mouthfuls of lukewarm water - it was the first time since leaving Vantok they were alone. No one else was visible on the road to the north or south and the bordering fields were empty. They had moved beyond the lush farmlands into a less crop-friendly territory, where only weeds and tough, hip-deep scrub grass grew. The temperature had moderated rapidly over the first few days heading away from Vantok. Here, it was normal for this late in the year. If they slept outside at night, Alicia would need several blankets and she rode wrapped in a heavy cloak. It was sunny at the moment but clouds were building on the northwestern horizon. In Vantok, such a sight would be welcome. For Alicia’s group, however, it augured a period of miserable travel.
“Snow tonight or tomorrow at the latest,” said Vagrum, following her gaze. She blinked at his words. How long since she had last seen snow? “That’s one thing we didn’t properly consider before leaving Vantok. Going this late in the year into the coldest part of the continent. Oh, we brung warm clothes and blankets, but all that heat made us forget what it’s really like to make a Winter trip. Travel ain’t gonna be pleasant and snow could slow us down. Worse, Widow’s Pass could be impassable. They get snow earlier in the mountains than on the plains. Get caught on those trails in a snowstorm and you’ll never come out the other side. Cave-ins, snow blindness, icy paths - only a fool’d venture into Widow’s Pass after Winter’s settled in.”
Something occurred to Alicia. “Warburm’s a seasoned traveler, right?”
Kara responded, “Of all the men I’ve known, none has seen more of this continent than he has. He’s been to The White World, where humans rarely venture.”
“Then he knows how bad the weather can get in the North. He knows the pass may be closed. Why travel there during the Harvest and Winter seasons? Why not wait for warmer weather?”
Rexall shrugged. “I don’t know as he had much choice. There’s urgency in this. They couldn’t sit around waiting another two seasons.”
Alicia persisted, sensing something wasn’t right but unable to pin it down. “They could’ve left weeks ago. They were waiting for cooler weather. They would’ve known from reports that the worst of the heat dissipates several days’ journey north of the city. Cold would have been the biggest concern, cold and snow. Not heat.” Alicia suddenly felt ill as her words triggered a possibility. “Unless they weren’t going north.”
Vagrum nodded grimly. “Much about the timing of their trip would make sense if their path led them south. They’d have to assume it might be hotter than in Vantok. That’d argue in favor of leaving with Winter coming. Their big concern would be dehydration and sun-sickness, not snow.”
Rexall shook his head in an emphatic negative. “I don’t doubt what you’re saying makes sense but you’re forgetting the portal is to the north.”
“Is that true? Is it the only one? Or are there more?” Alicia directed the questions to Kara.
She hesitated before responding
. “I don’t know. Ferguson may be aware of another; he’s devoted half his life to their study. I suppose there could be one in The Forbidden Lands or south of there, but that’s conjecture. The one to the north - that’s the one we always planned to use for Sorial.”
Rexall agreed. “I spoke to Sorial in the days before he left. He never said whether he was going north or south, but I think he would’ve mentioned it if Warburm was taking him into The Forbidden Lands. That ain’t the kind of thing he would’ve kept quiet about.”
His words did little to abate Alicia’s sick, sinking feeling. What if they were going the wrong way? If they were headed north and Sorial was traveling south, every day put more miles between them, widening a gulf that by now might be too large to bridge. Yet even if they turned around with a view of riding hard to catch him, how to do that when they had no idea where to go? She wanted to weep with frustration.
“Do you want to turn back, Milady?” Vagrum asked gently. It was her decision.
She had to think like a leader. Be practical. There were reasons to believe Sorial was going north. There was a known portal there - one that had been visited by two members of his party. Even if he had detoured all the way east to circumvent the mountains, he would reach his destination earlier by a full season than if he had waited until early Planting to depart. The possibility of another portal was speculation and, even if there was one, no one in this company knew its location. If Sorial had gone south, he was lost - they wouldn’t be able to find him. They might as easily return to Vantok and wait for his return. This way, at least there was a chance. The other way was admitting defeat and consigning Sorial to his fate, whatever that might be.
“We continue on.”
The afternoon’s trip was somber, with each considering the new uncertainty of their situation. When they had mounted their horses this morning at the inn fifteen miles back, their chief concerns had been avoiding detection by men loyal to Vantok and making sure they made it to the portal before Sorial. Now they had to face the possibility that a successful journey might achieve naught. If that was the case, the trek and its attendant risks were pointless. It was a bitter morsel to digest.
They had been on the road for less than two hours when Vagrum called a halt. It was unusually soon after their noon break, but no one challenged the big man when it came to setting the pace. After they dismounted, he turned to Rexall. “Did you see him?”
The younger man glanced to the south and nodded. “I wasn’t sure...”
“Who?” asked Alicia.
Vagrum fingered the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. “We’re being followed. At a discreet distance. This ain’t bandit country. It’s remote but there are too few easy targets to warrant their attention. Most traffic turned west back at the last fork and those that continue are large, well-armed caravans headed for the pass, more than capable of dealing with a group of rag-tag thieves. But we’ve attracted someone’s notice. What’s more, I ain’t sure we’re going to make it to the next inn by nightfall. We may have to sleep in the open.”
“What do you suggest?”
Vagrum considered. “Nothing at the moment. Let’s see if our shadow makes a move. If he’s still there when it gets close to dark, we may have to force the issue. Ride back and confront him or chase him off.”
“And hope he’s alone,” added Rexall.
Vagrum’s chuckle was grim. “Oh, he ain’t gonna be alone. You can bet your last stud on that. No one travels these roads alone, no matter what his motive. If we force a confrontation, he may turn tail and run. Or his accomplices may reveal themselves.”
They resumed their ride at the same pace but with greater vigilance. The lone figure, who appeared to be on horseback, could occasionally be glimpsed when the road flattened out for a prolonged period. Most of the time, however, he was hidden just beyond the last slight dip or rise. With nothing but scrub grass as far as the horizon in all directions, they had little concern about a conventional ambush, unless there were bandits lying in wait on their stomachs.
By mid-afternoon, the clouds had rolled in, blocking out the declining sun, and Vagrum’s morning prediction of snow was looking accurate. The chilly wind became gusty and Alicia was shivering in her saddle despite the heavy wool cloak wrapped tightly around her. Rexall looked equally miserable but the cold temperatures left Vagrum and Kara unfazed. Both had spent much time in colder climates.
Twilight was approaching when they spotted the accident. A merchant’s wagon had slid off the road and overturned. A single horse, detached from the harness, stood nearby on three legs, with the forth cocked and not touching the ground. Two men were just off the road, animatedly discussing what to do next. Neither the merchant nor his bodyguard was injured but they were at a loss about how to right the wagon.
Vagrum slowed his pace. Even to Alicia’s untrained eye, this was suspicious. With only two men, a wagon of that size was undermanned. The merchant looked in better physical shape than any merchant she had seen in Vantok’s marketplace. He was burly rather than corpulent. And there was no indication of what could have injured the horse and upset the wagon. The road here was no rougher than it had been for miles.
She leaned over to say something to Vagrum but was interrupted.
“Please kind sirs!” The merchant, having noted their approach, moved eagerly in their direction, arms held wide in the universal gesture of non-aggression. “My lame horse has run us off the road. My protector and I have not the strength to right the wagon and we dare not leave it lest it be stripped bare by the time we return. I implore you to help! This is a lonely stretch of road and we are most fortunate ones such as you have come to us in our time of need!”
Saying nothing, Vagrum dismounted. His expression was stern; his body tense. His hand wasn’t near the hilt of his sword, but Alicia knew the weapon could be out of its sheath and brought to bear in the blink of an eye. He was as suspicious as she of these circumstances. Yet if it was a trap, it was clumsy and inexpert.
Vagrum approached within five feet of the merchant, whose expression was one of apparently sincere dismay. His bodyguard, who stood a respectful distance behind him, was impassive. To Alicia, they looked like brothers, with the same stout body type, the same well-trimmed black beards, and the same bushy eyebrows. Only their clothing was different. The merchant wore opulent, ill-fitting robes and the other man was dressed in comfortably broken-in boiled leather armor.
“What happened?” asked Vagrum. Kara, Rexall, and Alicia remained mounted. Rexall’s fingers toyed with the knife at his belt. The horses, sensing the tension in the air, snorted and whickered nervously.
“Something frightened the horse. Some bush animal running across the road. She reared and the wagon, which was not well balanced, went over. In the process, she was hobbled. Now we have an overturned wagon, a horse that will have to be put down, and no one to help. We will pay for your aid, yes?”
It was a plausible story, if only just so. Alicia didn’t like this one bit. She had been in danger before, and this situation felt like the other times.
“Milady! Down!” Vagrum’s shout was tinged with alarm. Alicia ducked in the saddle just as an arrow whizzed over her head. Her protector was by her side in an instant, bodily pulling her from the saddle and pushing her behind him. Another arrow sped their way, but this one had less sure aim. It grazed Vagrum’s face but did no serious damage.
“Get him!” Vagrum yelled to Rexall. For the first time, Alicia noticed the shooter: the man who had been following them. He was closer than they had previously seen him. Dismounted in the middle of the road about three hundred feet away, he was loading and drawing another shot. Vagrum knocked Alicia to the ground and took this one in his arm. Her horse was now between her and the man with the longbow, but that didn’t mean she was out of danger.
She tried to shout Vagrum’s name, but the fall had knocked the wind out of her. There was no need, however; Vagrum had noticed the source of her alarm. The merchant had she
d his robes, revealing armor underneath. Both he and his bodyguard were rushing forward, cutlasses in hand.
Fighting instinct took over for Vagrum. His heavy broadsword was drawn with more than enough time to block the thrust of the merchant, who clumsily left himself open to a counterattack. Vagrum took the expedient route and dealt him a kick between the legs that drove him to his knees retching and gasping in pain. He turned to handle the other opponent, whose approach was more measured and cautious. It mattered little; Vagrum had the obvious advantage in both size and experience. After easily blocking a few tentative strikes, Vagrum feinted to the left, then took advantage of the resultant opening. The beheading was quick, clean, and decisive - the inevitable result of the sharp edge of a blade meeting a neck with the force of such a big man behind it.
Meanwhile, a galloping Rexall had reached the bowman, who fired two panicked arrows, both of which missed, before deciding it was time to make his escape. Rexall wasn’t in a generous mood and ran him down before he could reach his horse. The collision was a messy concussion of hooves and bone with the horse emerging largely unscathed. The same couldn’t be said of the bowman; when Rexall reined in his horse and dismounted to finish him, there was no need. His skull was partially caved in, with bits of brain visible through the smashed bone. The stranger’s mount, spooked by the violence and the smell of blood, and obviously unaccustomed to either, fled.
Yanking the arrow from his arm, where it had plunged into muscle and caused surprisingly little bleeding, Vagrum grimaced. “Amateurs!” He spat the word like a curse. “Are you all right, Milady?” There was concern in his voice as he offered her his hand. She was bruised but it could easily have been much worse. The attackers may have been amateurs but, without Vagrum’s expert swordsmanship, Alicia knew they would have succeeded. Her father had once lectured that a recognized trap could still be successful if one was careless enough to trip it.
The Last Whisper of the Gods Page 47
