A leaf crackled behind him. Mohan crouched and spun, drawing his sword.
“Glad you haven’t lost your touch, my friend.”
Mohan’s muscles melted with relief. He stood. “You’re late.”
“And after you made dinner and everything? Will you forgive me?” Ilythra teased. The stars sparkled in her eyes. They were standing next to an enemy camp. How did she look so relaxed?
He sheathed his sword. “I can think of a way you can make it up to me.”
Ilythra chuckled and reached for the bread. “I won’t ask where you found this. I’m hungry enough to eat just about anything right now.” She tore off a chunk. “What did you discover about the camp?”
“Guards two deep. Sets of two. Prisoners in the building that looks like it’s going to fall down with the next strong breeze.” Mohan settled on a large rock. “The tents are the rank-and-file soldiers. One of the low buildings is a meeting place of sorts where they eat and drink. And they drink a lot, by the looks of it.” He shook his head. “But they’d all have to be passed out cold for this to work. There’s just too many of them.”
“We’re thinking along the same lines.” She handed the second half of the loaf to Mohan. “Did you get a glimpse of any prisoners?”
“Yes. A few coming from the forge. I’m thinking they have crews there night and day. Their hands and feet are tied with rope. They hobble, no chance of running.”
Ilythra nodded but didn’t appear concerned.
“There’s a trail that leads from this camp to a mine. The mine is guarded by four guards. I watched for quite some time. I didn’t see how many were inside, but at least two more. With all that fur and hair, I can’t tell one from another.”
Ilythra grinned. “That echoes what I learned. The good news is, I found a tent full of liquor and a few very large bags of grain.” She grimaced and rubbed her hip. “One of them found me.”
“What’s good about that? These men are bored. Bored men drink.”
“It’s not wine or even the type of ale we’re used to. It’s made with hops.”
“And?” Mohan tore off another piece of bread.
“One of the qualities of hops is that it makes you sleepy.”
Mohan shrugged. “I’m sure they’re used to that.”
“In Greton, I had a very hard time sleeping. I made some clove oil but it was too strong. I didn’t use it. I’d always meant to dilute it but...” She waved a hand. “It’s about the only thing I have left in my medicine pouch.” She patted the leather bundle. “And on the way here, I found an herb called dropwart growing near the place we refilled the water skins. Dropwart is highly toxic.”
Mohan’s brow creased in confusion. He remembered the spot. “There wasn’t anything growing there.”
“I saw the dead stalks, but I don’t need the leaves, I need the roots.”
“You’re gonna poison them.” He liked the way her mind worked. He couldn’t abide slavery of any form.
“Diluted with the drink, it won’t be enough to kill them. But they’ll be groggy, disoriented and sick.”
“Not all of them,” Mohan warned.
“No, but enough to give us a fighting chance.”
Maybe. He examined Ilythra. Her gray eyes gleamed with purpose. “What about the prisoners? How do we let them know to run?”
“That’s where you come in.”
Mohan stopped chewing. “I don’t think I like the sound of this.”
* * *
“You think this is going to work?” Mohan glanced down at his mud-stained clothes, obvious disgust in his expression.
Ilythra strained to see him better in the faint morning light. The Benai had a love of bright, colorful clothing. Mohan’s was anything but. “I think it’s a good thing the colors are faded or you’d stand out like a cardinal in a field of doves.”
Mohan’s dimples made an appearance.
Ilythra rubbed her hand over her eyes. They’d slept until a few hours before dawn; then she’d hiked back to the river, dug up a few of the dropwort roots, pulverized them and placed them in a piece of cloth. Mohan had returned to Jarin, retrieved his ropes and had thought to swap clothes, but Jarin’s had been too raggedy to borrow. It was time to put their plan into action. The longer they stayed in the valley, the more likely they’d be discovered.
Mohan was the picture of health and vitality. “Look more tired,” she said.
“If I was any more tired, I’d drop in my tracks.” But he slouched his shoulders and his face lost its animation.
“Better.” This just might work.
“How do you sneak into a slave camp?” Mohan looked doubtful.
“A whole lot easier than sneaking out, I bet.” This part would require a lot of luck. She kneeled before him and tied the rope to his feet. “I hope no one notices how loose these knots are. Kick hard and they’ll come apart, okay?”
Mohan nodded. “Got it.”
“Don’t forget about the knife in your boot.”
“Not likely to.” He picked at his shirt and wrinkled his nose.
“Are you sure?” Her voice wavered. Was she asking too much? Maybe she should try and do this on her own.
“If you’re in. I’m in, darlin’.”
Ilythra placed her hand over Ilydearta and willed the plan to work. It had to. If it didn’t, Mohan was dead.
* * *
Before the sun crested the horizon, Rugians emerged from the low, long building. She adjusted her position on a branch of an evergreen, careful not to shake any needles loose. From her perch, she could see most of the camp but would remain invisible unless someone looked right at her. She hoped that didn’t happen, or she was trapped.
A few Rugians headed into the slave barracks. Shouts and the sound of whips followed. Ilythra tensed. Somewhere on the other side of the clearing, Mohan waited. She peered into the gloom. A shadow moved from one building to the other. Mohan. He neared the slave’s quarters. She briefly closed her eyes and willed the plan to work. A line of slaves snaked out of the larger building. Some detoured into the forge; others shuffled toward a trail in the forest. One of the slaves fell. Two others tried to help him up, but a Rugian guard snapped a whip in the air. The slaves scattered, more of them falling on hobbled feet. A guard yanked one of the fallen men to his feet, shouting something in Rugian. Mohan made his move. He smoothly slipped into the huddled group of slaves. She cringed as the whip flew just over his head. Guards pushed the prisoners back in line, Mohan among them. Ilythra breathed a sigh of relief.
Now the waiting.
* * *
“Is he well?”
Bredych shut the door to the king’s chamber and turned toward Konrad, hiding his irritation. The steward always seemed to be hovering nearby lately. An annoying shadow. “I’m afraid not. I fear the disappearance of Lady Ilythra has broken the king.”
“Has Aclan been in to see him yet?” Konrad’s blue eyes narrowed.
The prince, another consideration. He’d never bothered with the boy. It had been too easy to feed Cassia’s thirst for what she assumed was justice. Aclan was a spoiled prince who was oblivious to anything but his own pleasures and had no chance of becoming king. But now that Cassia had failed him, perhaps the boy deserved a second look. He was eager to please and devastated with the loss of Rothit and Ilythra. He needed a friend. Counsel. There was a chance an early succession was in order. He would have to investigate the matter. Maybe he’d spare the young prince’s life. Bredych turned his attention back to the steward. He allowed irritation to leak into his voice. “Do you think it wise for a boy to see his father in such a state?”
Konrad took a step back. He hunched his shoulders but then suddenly raised his chin and stood upright. “Aclan is growing into a man. It might be good for them both.”
/> Bredych straightened and peered at the smaller man for several heartbeats. Konrad had aged, his dark hair peppered with silver, but he still held himself with aloof dignity. Bredych had always disliked him, but the steward had run the castle efficiently since the queen had died. It had saved the man’s life until now. “I will take it under advisement.” The words were final, dismissive.
With a short bow, Konrad disappeared down the corridor. Bredych watched him go. He definitely needed to do something about the steward. He glanced at the ceiling. Cassia lay recovering two floors above. It was partly her fault that Ilythra escaped. Her one task had been to remain by Ilythra’s side. The healer had been drugged and easily led, so it should have been easy. But Cassia had failed in her duties—let someone get to Ilythra. That was unacceptable. A smile curved his mouth. He’d unleashed his wrath on her but spared her life when she’d begged for it. He had never planned to kill her, at least not yet, but she didn’t know that.
He’d keep her alive until he decided what to do about the prince. The ever-present anger that smoldered in his chest flared to life. What he did to Cassia would pale in comparison to the plans he had for Ilythra. Everything had been going smoothly until she’d managed to slip away. Over the years, he’d woven his plan slowly and with precision. Nothing she did could alter that. But the loose threads were time-consuming and annoying all the same.
He walked down the hall toward his rooms. If Ilythra made it past his warriors to the Siobani, even then it would be too late. They’d been inactive for so long, and they were such creatures of habit. They did not act in haste. Ewen would take matters under consideration and sit in his keep while Anatar burned.
He closed his eyes and reached out. Something rippled across Teann. He froze. Ilythra’s signature had returned to alter the chorus within Teann. She had the stone again. An unaccustomed feeling filled his breast. His heart beat erratically. It took a moment to realize the emotion was fear. Anger burned in his chest until only it remained. He would not be weak. Was she still in the valley? Could she be within his reach? Anticipation sped his steps. If she was close, he’d soon know it.
Chapter Five
Ilythra jerked awake and gripped a branch for balance. Wedged between two large forked branches, there wasn’t much chance of falling, but waking up in a tree was disconcerting all the same. She took a breath to slow her rapid heartbeat.
She’d dreamed of the red man. Bredych. It wasn’t like the dreams she’d had when she’d first shipwrecked on mainland Anatar. Zeynel had shown her how to build defenses against his invading her dreams, but it was Bredych. He was calling her. He knows I have the stone.
She knew it was only a matter of time; she had just hoped for more of it. Now it really was a race. She doubted he could pinpoint her exact location any more than she could determine where he was, but a keeper could know when a stone was near or far by its song. He would know she wasn’t that far away. That was bad enough.
She hadn’t planned on sleeping, but there was little to do but wait, and she supposed any rest was good for her. It was more than Mohan was getting. The sun had sunk low in the west and now threw slanted rays of light over the landscape below. Slaves had come and gone through the forge since dawn, stopping once when the sun was high in the sky to eat something that from her perch resembled watered-down boiled oats. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten much since sharing the loaf of bread with Mohan the day before. Twice she’d seen the Benai among the slaves. Each time her heart stopped and fear clogged her throat. What if the plan didn’t work? They’d sent him to the forge. The last time, he’d been covered in so much soot, she’d hardly recognized him.
Shouts sounded in the distance, and a Rugian came into view from between the trees. Prisoners followed, their steps labored and halting. A whip sang through the air but the prisoners either didn’t have the energy to move faster or had become accustomed to pain. More Rugians trailed the line of prisoners, laughing and talking among themselves. Not for the first time, she wished she knew a little Rugian so she could understand what they were saying.
The light began to fade. Twilight. The sentries around the camp walked out of the forest, spoke with their replacements and headed toward the building that housed their food. Now was the time. As silently as possible, she slipped from the tree, landing on the needle-covered ground. Keeping low, she moved to the tent with the alcohol. From the shelter of the forest she waited. No one was watching. She stroked Ilydearta through her tunic, took a deep breath and sprinted toward the tent, prepared this time for the large bag of what must be oats.
The tent’s interior was dim. The smell of dust and old wood made her nose itch. She stifled a sneeze. Small barrels were stacked along two walls. Grain to the back. She climbed over the sacks toward the front of the tent to examine the barrels. They weren’t large but it would take some effort for her to pick up one and hoist it on her shoulder. The Rugian had easily moved two. The lid was inset in the top of each barrel. The moisture from the alcohol made it a watertight seal.
The barrels to the right were stacked three high; those on the left were staggered. She stood at the entrance, looking at the arrangement. Here was the tricky part. She needed to make sure the herbs went into the right barrels. Which one would she take if she were the Rugian sent to retrieve another barrel?
Sweat formed on her brow and her stomach clenched. In the end, she’d have to leave it to Teann. She chose the two most likely barrels and pried open the tops with her knife just enough to slip in a handful of root and half the clove oil. The warm scent of hops and yeast filled the air before she sealed them again.
Footsteps sounded outside the tent. Fear sped her heart. She’d taken too long. She jumped to the back of the tent and wedged herself between a bag of oats and the tent wall, praying the Rugian didn’t see the tent was bowed just a little more than it should be, or that he wasn’t coming for more oats instead of one of the barrels.
Dim light spilled into the tent. She made herself as small as possible and steadied her breathing. Please don’t let me have a shadow. She couldn’t turn and look without alerting the guard to her presence. Mumbled Rugian that sounded like curses filled the tent and then the sound of wood scraping on wood, followed by a grunt. The tent flap closed. Ilythra let go the breath she’d been holding.
She rolled over the bag of oats and inspected the barrels. Relief cooled the sweat on her brow. He’d taken them.
Her gaze fell on a small crate of clear glass containers. She held one up to the faint light. A clear liquid swished inside. After breaking the seal, she sniffed. The acrid scent burned her nostrils. She recognized the stuff. Erhard drank it from time to time in Greton. She’d never liked it.
She grabbed two bottles and returned to her hiding place to wait for full dark.
* * *
Aclan pressed against the cold wall. Konrad waited by his father’s door in the hall. A door opened. Voices followed. He couldn’t make out what the men said but understood the moment Konrad grew frightened.
Bredych. He was the only man who could put that tone of fear into a man’s voice. Even his father at his angriest had never scared him the way Bredych did. Aclan waited. Soon footsteps sounded down the hall. One set. Sweat dampened his brow. And why should he be afraid to visit his own father? The answer was clear. Because he knew Bredych didn’t wish it, and what Bredych didn’t wish... He left the thought unfinished.
Finally a second set of footsteps moved down the corridor. He peeked around the corner. No one in sight. He hurried to the door. His soft-soled shoes whispered against the stone but sounded loud in the empty corridor. He swallowed past a lump of fear in his throat. Please don’t be locked.
The latch turned easily. Aclan slipped into his father’s room. The drapes were drawn and only a single candle invaded the gloom, throwing ghostly images against the walls. The sitting room contained a silence th
at sent chills down his back. He moved toward the room with his father’s bed. The lump under the covers moaned.
His fear vanished. Aclan rushed to his father’s side. “Father,” he called.
King Erhard turned his head but didn’t open his eyes.
“It’s me. Aclan.” He reached out his hand, hesitated and then smoothed the sweat-soaked hair from his father’s face.
Erhard opened his eyes. He stared blindly ahead for several moments then focused. “My son.”
Aclan nodded, tears blurred his vision. He wiped them away.
“Is she safe?”
“Ilythra?” But he knew. He no more believed Ilythra had betrayed his father and run off with another man than he believed Rothit, his instructor, had gotten drunk and slipped on the stairs, falling to his death during Emdarech. Even his father didn’t believe the lies, and he’d been the last to see Ilythra before she’d left.
Aclan knew most people considered him a spoiled brat not much good for anything, but Rothit had seen worth in him. So had Ilythra. Bredych, his father’s counselor, had always treated him as though he were invisible. He’d kept it that way. Safer. But now, now his father was ill, Rothit dead, Ilythra gone and he was alone.
“She got away.” It was only through extreme effort that he got the words out without his voice breaking. Everyone had left him and now his father was fading. The fear returned and left an acrid taste in his mouth.
Erhard nodded, his eyes closing.
Aclan panicked. He didn’t want his father to leave him yet, even to sleep. He needed someone to tell him what to do. “I don’t think you’re safe.”
Erhard’s blue eyes shot open. He reached for and gripped Aclan’s hands tightly. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t challenge him. Don’t...” The king faltered, seemingly confused. “Go to Rothit.”
“Rothit is dead.” The words still produced pain.
The king’s pale eyes grew confused, and then he focused again. “Konrad. Tell Konrad everything. You need to get to safety.”
Journey of Wisdom Page 5
