by Mary Corran
A trip to the country began to seem distinctly attractive. She began to unbutton her shirt —
— and froze. She could feel eyes boring into her back. She whirled round, but there was no one there. She stood up, looking under the bed, in the chest, then opened the shutters and peered out. There was no one visible, no ladder perched on the wall by the alley, yet she remained convinced that someone, somewhere, was watching her. She was quite certain of it.
She tried to think rationally: If I can’t see anyone, there’s no one there. It’s just my imagination. But no amount of argument could persuade her that was all it was. She could not stay in her room; it no longer offered peace and privacy. She ran downstairs, retreating to the comfort of the fire in the empty common room; but even there, in the eerie darkness, lit only by the sinking embers in the hearth, the feeling of being observed did not diminish. She huddled by the wall, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the night, for all the candles had been extinguished and she was alone in the room; but even when she could see clearly again, there was still nothing and no one there.
She shivered.
She had come to Venture believing it a haven of safety in her flight from Lewes, but now it seemed to hold nothing but menace and violence, a place where others used and manipulated her against her wishes. She wanted to blame the Oracle, the Fates, for the whole, but that sounded too ridiculous. With ears attuned to the slightest movement, eyes constantly starting at shadows, Asher sat with her back to the wall for what felt like half the night, waiting; nothing happened.
At last, the feeling subsided, and her terror began to abate and she summoned sufficient courage to leave the comparative safety of the hearth. Whoever she had sensed seemed to have gone. Silently, she returned to her room, opening the door nervously; but it was empty, and she felt no resumption of her earlier panic.
Swiftly, she undressed and got into bed. There were no sounds from any of the nearby rooms, not even Sara’s, where she knew Margit would be keeping a nightlong vigil. She reminded herself that Essa and Mylura were only next door, a shout away.
What are you? she jeered silently. A small child afraid of the dark? She was disgusted with herself. I told Mallory I could cope, and needed no one’s help. Now look at me! She huddled further under the blankets.
What had happened to her? The Asher she had become over the past six years, the new Asher, strong and self-sufficient, seemed to her at that moment little changed from the Asher of the past with all her fears and vulnerabilities. Perhaps, she thought bitterly, her fate had always been to be weak, vulnerable. She tried to tell herself she was not afraid, only tired, but she could still feel unseen eyes watching her, still smell the metallic smoke of Lassar’s incense; and, when she closed her eyes, she saw again the writhing lines, like dark-coloured serpents, stretching away into the distance.
Home. I want to go home. The longing she had suppressed for so many years surged up as she lay in the dark, the blind instinct of the wounded. She knew it for foolishness, for her family was dead, and there was no one left to run to except Mallory, and to him she would not; but the desire, once acknowledged, refused to go away. Home.
She felt herself relax as the word hummed in her mind. In only a few days she would, indeed, be going home.
PART TWO
Fixed Fate
Chapter Seven
The trail wound round and down, rising again in the distance about a hill burned almost bare by firestorm. Where once shrubs and other greenery had covered the slopes, there was now only grey rock and scree; but, as the party drew closer, it could be seen that some growth had, after all, managed to survive the inferno. Here and there, tall poker-shaped flowers on white stalks stood out against the rock, and among the bare, fire-blackened stones and stems were odd patches of brown, even red, of living plants. The flames seemed to have followed a path of their own making, sparing growth above and below an allotted line with an arbitrary wilfulness.
‘Had enough already?’ Mallory enquired.
Asher scowled. ‘Of Kerrick, yes!’
‘You should be honoured he considers you sufficiently worthy to receive his pearls of wisdom.’ His expression was innocuous, but Asher knew Mallory too well to be deceived.
‘He wouldn’t, if he knew what I was thinking,’ she muttered darkly.
They had set out at day-break, and Asher’s spirits, never at their height at such an hour, sank lower as she surveyed the ill-assorted party. Kerrick, like his uncle Avorian, was a good-looking man, though darker of hair and eye, but there the resemblance ceased; he had made it plain at the outset that he considered most of his unwanted travelling companions beneath his notice, speaking only to Mallory and Asher with any degree of civility. Val and Tarm, the hired guards, he either ignored or spoke to in such offensive tones that Asher wondered how long it would be before they rebelled.
As she had feared, it began to rain; the skies were the heavy grey that promised a prolonged downfall. Asher huddled in her riding cloak and tried to remember she had been looking forward to the journey.
The party spread out along the trail, Val in the lead, his brother bringing up the rear. Horton, Kerrick’s clerk, rode behind Val; a man of about fifty, with a fussy manner, he seemed to share his master’s prejudices with regard to his companions. Pars, who came next, had already tried conversing with Horton but been treated to a stare of such haughtiness that he quickly retreated inside his sensitive shell. At only twenty, he was uncomfortably plump; Asher thought he looked like a puppy longing for a bone but expecting a curse, and hoped Mallory was kind to him. Kerrick, Asher, Mallory and Margit followed, then Ish, Mallory’s fifteen-year-old groom, who had accompanied his master on one long sea-voyage and behaved as if a journey of only five days were beneath his contempt.
Behind Ish, Ancil, Kerrick’s Petormene slave, sat slumped in his saddle, a picture of misery; he was only eighteen or so and had no cape, so that his thin shirt and breeches were already soaked. Mylura rode alongside him, speaking to him in low tones.
The rain thickened until it was difficult to see the trail at all; Val urged them on, despite Kerrick’s protests. There was no shelter to be had until they reached the Forest of Marl, and the prospect of a night spent on the open hills was less than enticing.
‘How far to the forest?’ she asked him, peering through the curtain of rain.
‘Down there.’ He pointed to a large patch of darkness some way below.
She sighed. ‘I feel as if we’ve been riding in circles all day.’
‘We have!’
Val halted and indicated they should dismount and lead the horses; Asher, having already felt her mount stumble twice on the track of slippery mud, complied willingly. The rain had eased up, but a quick look at the sky convinced her the respite was only temporary; gloomily, she wondered if it would rain the entire length of the journey.
‘We’ll make camp inside the forest,’ Val called back. ‘There’ve been reports of a robber band further south, and there’s no point in taking chances.’
‘Just get on with it!’ Kerrick sounded irritable.
The forest began at the base of the slope; once it had stretched from the edge of the hills south to Eagle Lake, only a day’s journey from Chance, but over the centuries the southern section had been slowly eaten away as timber was needed for export, for building and for fuel. Now it was only a wide belt of trees, less than a day’s ride from north to south, a visible witness to the slow but steady drain on Darrian’s resources made by an increasing population and the heavy burden of the tribute. In the twilight, however, the dark shadows of the trees gave a promise of shelter, holding out hope of dry warmth and rest.
As Asher plodded on, she turned back to exchange a word with Mylura; her feet slipped and she slid then fell, measuring her length in the mud. She made an exclamation of disgust, and Mallory looked round.
‘Any damage?’ He extended a helping hand.
‘No.’ Her own hand, slimy with mud, slipped f
rom his and she fell again, splattering him as well as herself, unable to stop herself laughing at his obvious distaste. ‘I might as well slide down — I’m so wet now it wouldn’t make any difference.’
‘Just try to stay vertical!’
She glared back, but he was already moving on. She was aware of being wet through and extremely uncomfortable, unhappy in the knowledge that she would have to wear the same, mud-soaked clothes the next day; she thought longingly of a stream of clear water. Then laughed again as the skies opened and rain streamed down, and her cloak began to drip in muddy rivulets. She lifted her face and tried to wash her hands in the downpour.
They made camp in a small grove of trees, interlaced branches overhead providing a measure of shelter. Val, with an expertise Asher could only envy, built a fire, using kindling carried in his packs, and the whole party gathered eagerly round it.
‘What are you doing there?’ The sight of Ancil kneeling on the sodden ground, hands held out towards the flames, apparently enraged his master. Kerrick kicked out at him, catching him on the ribs. ‘Go and do something about supper!’
Ancil retreated at once, walking dejectedly towards the pack-horses where Mylura joined him.
‘Where does he sleep tonight?’ she murmured to Mallory.
‘In the open, unless I’m much mistaken. Don’t worry, he can share with Ish if Pars comes in with me.’ He beckoned to his groom, who listened to the proposal then nodded his head vigorously. ‘Does that satisfy you, Ash?’
‘Thanks.’ Then, finding Kerrick eyeing them curiously, she moved away to help Margit erect their tent. It was not part of their plans for him to discover they already knew one another well; nor, given the circumstances, could they easily explain their long acquaintance.
After the meal, Margit claimed most of the party for a few rounds of cards; Asher, who did not enjoy games of chance, was content to watch until drawn away by a summons from Kerrick, who was talking to Mallory on the far side of the fire.
‘Mistress Asher, my uncle has asked me to take great care of you, given the errand on which you have come.’ She smiled doubtfully, wondering where the speech was leading. ‘You must forgive my surprise at finding a woman so capable to be also young and attractive!’
Asher sighed inwardly, less at the laboured compliment than at the gleam in Kerrick’s eye; it was plain his reputation was not exaggerated. ‘You’re very kind,’ she replied, careful not to look at Mallory.
‘You look tired, mistress,’ he intervened promptly. ‘Perhaps you should retire. We’ve an early start in the morning. I’m sure our host would excuse you.’
‘How thoughtful of you.’ Her bland expression was fully the equal of his own. ‘I think I shall. Good night, Master Kerrick; Councillor.’ She caught the look Kerrick shot Mallory and felt that satisfaction well worth his easy victory. Then Asher scowled. It was unwise to allow Mallory even so slight a degree of control over her actions. It came to her that her strong dislike of being given orders was perhaps at the heart of her desire to believe the Oracle false. She shook her head; this journey was the test of the truth, and it had barely begun.
She walked to the tent she was to share with her friends and arranged her bedroll, and was already half-asleep by the time the others came in. She listened to them with only part of her attention, the rest centred on the sounds of the night. She could hear the horses shifting restlessly, the branches stirring overhead; there were calls of night-birds hunting, and odd rustlings in the distance that spoke of other predators. Feeling drowsy and comfortable, she realized it was the first whole day she had been free from the sensation of being watched since the night of the raid on the hostel. She had come to recognize the warning signs, the uneasiness which was the precursor to what she tried to convince herself were mere attacks of nerves, and mentioned to no one.
The smell of wood-smoke from the fire and the scents of damp earth and leaves reminded her of her childhood. I’m going home, she thought sleepily. Mallory deserved some gratitude from her for making it possible.
*
Mallory thought even Ancil looked happier the next day as they rode along the straightest trail through the forest. Rain continued to fall, but not so heavily, and it was warmer in the shelter of the trees. The slave-boy was now wearing an old cloak of his own, and Mallory wondered idly where Ish had found it; he did not object to its bestowal, which would please Asher, for the Petormene boy obviously felt the cold severely. He sneezed from time to time, and wiped his nose on his sleeve when he thought no one was looking.
Tarm, leading, held up a hand and the procession ground to a halt while he dismounted and bent to inspect some blackened marks on the trail.
‘A few days’ old,’ he said, speaking to Kerrick loud enough for the others to hear. ‘We’d better be alert for trouble; keep together, and be ready to ride for it if I give the word.’
‘How many men?’ Mallory called out.
‘Hard to say. A dozen, perhaps?’
They rode on. Mallory found himself continually scanning the deep shadows to either side for signs of movement, but he felt no sense of menace in the quiet of the forest. There was only the constant patter of rain on leaves, and the flight of wings as birds fled at their own noisy approach.
‘Look!’
It was Margit who cried out. Following her pointing hand, Mallory turned and saw a lone black crow perched high on a branch to the left of the track. Instead of flying off, as they intruded on to its territory, it seemed to be waiting for them to draw closer. As Tarm passed, it opened its beak and cawed, not once but three times.
‘Three times for death,’ Horton murmured audibly. Kerrick glared at him. The crow lifted its wings and flapped away, deeper into the forest; after a frozen moment, Tarm kicked his heels into his horse’s sides and set off again. The rest followed, subdued. Mallory noticed Asher looking impatient, as if she thought it all so much nonsense, and only wished he could share her indifference.
It was well past midday when he first noticed the smell, a sickly, penetrating odour that grew stronger as they approached a section of forest where thick undergrowth reduced visibility to either side of the trail. One area looked well-trampled, as though it had been used in the not so distant past by more than one person, and it was there Tarm called another halt.
‘There must be something dead in the bushes,’ Mallory muttered to Asher. She nodded, fumbling in her skirts for a cloth to cover her nose. Tarm dismounted and headed off into the thicket, and before Mallory could say a word, Asher had followed suit.
His eyes met Mylura’s to his right; she shrugged, grinning. ‘Asher,’ he called after her, then cursed himself for his carelessness as Kerrick turned to stare at him in astonishment. Asher had already disappeared in Tarm’s wake, and their progress could only be heard, not seen, as they made their way through the concealing undergrowth.
Has she no sense at all? he thought wrathfully, dismounting in turn and hurrying in pursuit. Val, in the rear, strained his eyes, alert for signs of the robber band, but it seemed unlikely they would hide themselves so close to such a penetratingly unpleasant smell. Mallory pushed aside trailing greenery and brambles, speeding his pace at the sound of a distant exclamation of disgust. He heard footsteps, then Tarm appeared, breathing fast through his mouth.
‘What’s the matter?’ Mallory asked urgently.
Tarm spat, as though to rid his mouth of an evil taste. ‘Through there!’ he said curtly, indicating a faint trail. ‘We’ll have no more trouble with robbers.’
Mallory let him go, moving on along the path. The stench of decay was overwhelming, and he wondered why Asher had not come back.
He found himself in a wide clearing, man-made — and stopped.
Asher was on her knees, her head in her hands. As he looked up he saw something brown and furred disappear among the trees, although his arrival did not disturb the crows, who, having found something edible in the clearing, were too intent on their meal to take fright. It was the
content of that meal that had so affected Tarm.
A dozen trees formed a circle around the cleared space of ground, which had once evidently served as a camp-site; there were thick deposits of ash and pieces of charred wood strewn all around. The source of the smell, however, came from the trees, where remnants of what had once been men had been dismembered and fixed to the trunks with long nails, in no particular order; only the heads were missing. These, of which there were ten, had been rammed on top of pointed poles and stuck into the earth in a neat line.
Mallory swore. Seeing Asher still incapable of movement, he picked her up and carried her back along the path, shoving aside the trailing undergrowth until the unspeakable grove was no longer in sight. Once far enough away, he put her back on her feet.
‘Thanks.’ She was very white. ‘I couldn’t move.’ Further explanation seemed to be beyond her.
‘Why don’t you sometimes think before rushing into things?’ Mallory demanded furiously. ‘There was no need for you to have seen that!’
For once, she seemed too shocked to resent his tone. ‘No. Who did it?’
‘The Kamiri. I’ve seen something like this before, in a village in Asir.’ The memory was still vivid, an image of wailing brown women and weeping children, and the smell of death and blood; the place had been a den of robbers. It was one of the few memories that came back at times to haunt his dreams, for in his travels he had seen a great many unpleasant sights, most of them the handiwork of Amrist’s men. ‘They’ve left the bodies here as a warning.’ He tried not to think about the crows, bile rising in his throat. ‘Can you walk? Because I think we should leave at once.’ She nodded.
They found the remainder of the party waiting but impatient; Mallory wasted no time in helping Asher to mount, meeting Kerrick’s interested gaze with a stare that gave nothing away.
