“Redhead. Tall with big wonderful breasts. She dyes her hair and can snatch a man’s heart with a wink of her eye.”
“Okay. Tell me when it’s clear.”
No simple girl, this one. Impressed, I said nothing else and remembered something else she could use. I climbed down, found the cloak inside the coach, and climbed back up. I tossed it onto the trunk next to her.
“Grab the cloak when you go. Wait for my signal.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “What’s your name?”
“Leger. Alsman Leger Mertone.”
Saying it felt too strange.
It did not take long for the groom to finish. He carried the only lit lantern out of the stable. I stood up, stretched, and swung my gaze around the growing darkness. No one was about.
“Now.”
The trunk swung open, and the girl, taller than I had imagined, jumped out. She snatched the cloak, leapt down, and dashed straight through the hedgerow.
My heart was a happy hammer, and I almost laughed aloud. She’d gotten away clean. I closed the trunk, sat back down, and grinned up at the stars.
The door to the guesthouse opened a short time later and the driver came out. “Are you going to sit there all night?”
“Is there any wine?”
“If I say yes, will you come inside and help us clean the mess Barok’s made?”
I leaned toward him. “You continue to speak to me as though I were a soldier. How is it you are so foolish?”
He looked ready to say something more but kept his mouth shut and bowed. I folded my arms and closed my eyes.
The door opened again, but I did not bother to look. It was the servant, and after he rummaged through the trunks, he moved back inside. On his way back out, he said something very rude. The words did not bother me. In fact, I found I was grinning. I had always wanted to enjoy the moments that would follow.
“You are very brave to speak of a Yentif prince like that in the presence of an Alsman.”
He froze in place. He must have thought I was asleep, and it was apparent that the driver had not informed him who I was. Poor lad. I almost felt sorry for him.
“His alsman? Please, sir, accept my apologies.”
The bow that went with it was admirable, and I almost let him go. “You have wine in the manor?”
“Sir?”
I crossed my arms.
“I’ll bring you a bottle.”
“Two,” I said and watched him flee.
“Quite a night,” I said and smiled. The pit of my stomach, however, already had dreams of wine racing through my veins. The wanting overwhelmed me. By the time the servant returned, I was twitching in my seat. I snatched the bottles, and he got one look into my eyes before he fled at a run.
I ignored the boy, took hold of a bottle, and pulled the cork free with a bite and a twist.
9
Dia Esar
Colonel Erik Feseq
The soft crunch of leaves woke me. I was on my side, wrapped in Barok’s thick cloak beneath a tangle of tall trees. Dew sparkled upon the branches.
Fear held me frozen while I tried to sort out where I was. Had someone found me?
I’d jumped off the coach, fought my way through a hedgerow, and ran through fields of wheat until my lungs burned and my legs gave way. The spot in the trees must be where I’d hit the ground.
The sound did not repeat itself and I let go of my held breath. The leaves beneath me crunched. The noise had been my own.
I sat up, angry, hungry, and damp. My legs were sore, and when I stood I spotted the hedgerow square on the far side of three wide squares of wheat.
At this pace, it would take me a year to reach Enhedu.
Leger’s advice spun in my head, and I began to pull at my lip while trying to resolve to hide there until the sun went down.
Had he said to only travel at night? No, that was not right. Do not travel on the roads during the day. That was what he had said.
Food and a fire were what I needed, and more than anything, directions.
What a useless girl Dagoda had made me. I could read, dance, and serve a meal to an Exaltier, but had no idea at all how to start a fire or figure out which way was north.
I squinted at Bayen’s bright eye. “Do you rise in the east or the west?”
He made no reply, but I’d reduced the problem to a coin toss. I pulled one from Leger’s thin purse, called heads, and made the toss. It came to rest in my palm with Barok’s father looking up at me. West then. The sun rises in the west.
Confident of the answer, I kept the sun on my left, the trees on my right, and spat a vulgar goodbye toward the manor. I was rewarded soon after when I crested a low rise and spotted a wide road. A distance to my right it turned back toward the manor. Straight ahead of me it pointed to what was sure to be due north.
There was no one in sight, so after I brushed the grains of wheat from my clothes and the leaves from my hair I started down the road. My thin shoes would not survive the long walk, but I patted Leger’s coin purse. They could be replaced.
The expansive view encouraged my pace. What a place it was that it could feed so many people. Wheat stretched to my right as far as the eyes could see, and to my right a wide field of ripe yellow beans made my mouth water.
I was considering picking a few when I spotted riders down the road. They wore blue overcoats and the lead rider’s helmet was topped with a tall crest of blue horsehair. They were Hemari from the capital.
I had gotten everything wrong. I was headed south and they could see me walking down the middle of the damned road. Leger had warned me.
I had angry words for the sun and Barok’s father, but they would have to wait as the officer brought the group to a halt before me.
“Good morning, sirs,” I said with a sweet Dagoda grin.
“Who are you?” he demanded as he took off his blue-crested helm. The face and voice filled me with dread. He was the officer Gensish had spoken to upon the carriageway. He’d come to retrieve me.
“Evela Kalot,” I said with a deep bow to hide my nervousness and to show him everything a loose blouse could. “I’m headed to Bessradi. Am I on the right road?”
The man’s hard face brightened, and he looked me up and down. His soldiers were doing the same. “I know someone at the capital with a sister named Evela.”
“You know Darmia? Is she still dyeing her hair?”
“I do, and she is. You’re Haton’s new barmaid, aren’t you?”
“You do know my sister. I need a good night’s rest and a bath, but I clean up well.”
“Not necessary at all. The road seems to like you.”
The grins of his men encouraged him and he dismounted. “I need to ride a bit further north, but if you would like, you could ride our extra mount, and we could escort you all the way to the Creedal.”
No barmaid would refuse such an offer. I blushed for him and offered my hand. “You have me at an advantage, sir.”
“Colonel Erik Feseq, and a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a proper bow before he kissed my hand. I gave his fingers a soft squeeze and blushed for him some more.
He waved the spare horse forward and it proved equal to the rest—narrow chest, long legs, long back, long neck, black, tall, and proud. His breed was square-haired, and like the rest of the soldiers’ horses, his coat shimmered. When the saddle bags came off, he did a little hop and looked at me as though begging to run. His almond-shaped eyes were more intelligent than the colonel’s and he licked his lips as he was brought to me, a sure sign he hoped to be friends.
“He doesn’t have a rider yet, so he won’t mind you. He’s a stallion, though, so take it easy.”
Horses had never scared me, so I was up into the saddle before the colonel could move to help. The bluecoats applauded.
“I prefer stallions,” I smiled at him. He liked this, and as he adjusted the stirrups he squeezed my ankles. My girlish grin filled the one-minded ox with bravado. He winked, jumped atop his
gelding, and waved his men forward with a loud cry.
We rode along the bends in the road, through the hedgerow, and around to Barok’s carriage. My nervousness began to crack my pantomime. The colonel was one clear thought or simple question away from unraveling me.
Leger was still in his seat, but in the light of day, he looked nothing like I had expected. His salt and pepper hair was a bramble and everything he wore was filthy. His coat hung open and I could smell the feet inside his battered boots. But his face was the worst. His left eye and ear were swollen and dried blood clung to his unshaven cheek and chin. He seemed the kind of thing that ate garbage in an alley. A pair of wine bottles lay empty nearby.
“That is what I wanted to see,” the colonel said. “We will be on our way back to Bessradi momentarily.”
“A debtor trying to escape the Chancellery?” I asked.
The colonel laughed. “No. Chancellor Parsatayn’s bailiffs hunt those that break the law. The Hemari answer only to the Exaltier and his sons.”
“You work for a prince?”
He winked and gestured to his men. Several dismounted to search the guesthouse, coach, and trunks.
“She is not here, sir.”
The colonel’s expression changed. He dismounted, questioned the valets, and entered the guesthouse for a time. When he came out his expression was darker still.
He prodded Leger, but could not rouse him. The soldiers debated what to do.
The colonel approached, distracted and irritated, but managed to summon a pleasant expression. “My apologies, Evela, but plans have changed. We will not be able to escort you to the capital. I feel terrible taking you out of your way.”
He took the reins of my horse and seemed ready to ask me to step down. I crossed my arms and said. “So I am to walk then?”
My anger startled him, and he bumbled a few words together trying to think of what to say. “No, no. I would never be so cruel. Please, on my honor.”
“How shall I get to Bessradi then?”
“Why, it only seems fair that you keep the horse and ride him to the capital. When you get there, leave the horse and my name with any Hemari colonel wearing a blue-crested helmet like mine. He’ll get it back to me.”
I let my fake anger go and blushed hot for him. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Colonel Feseq. It would be a terrible imposition.”
“Please, call me Erik,” he said and ran his hand up and down my calf. “And there will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other later. I insist.”
I rewarded him with my best smile. “I would like that very much. Very well, Erik, I accept, but only the condition that you allow me to repay the favor when you return.”
“I look forward to it,” he replied, but hearing his name called from the guesthouse, his smile diminished. “Again, my apologies, but this is farewell.”
“You know where to find me,” I said, blew him a kiss, and turned the stallion away.
What fortune. Dagoda wiles and Leger’s masterful tale had won my freedom, and a fine horse to boot. Was that drunk really my savior? I had no time to ponder it.
I coaxed the horse onto the road and turned south. Every pair of eyes followed me. I stretched my shoulders and back so the bluecoats could admire my breasts. With luck, they would spend the rest of the morning talking about them rather than search for me.
The road moved along a field of wheat, and a suspicion had me searching the ditch. I found my footprints almost at once.
My horse shied, and I struggled to remember how to calm him. It had been so many years since my father had coached me around the paddock, back when mother was alive and father still raised horses—but the old memories helped. I patted my new friend’s neck and relaxed the reins. He calmed, eased into a steady trot, and soon arrived at the place where Colonel Feseq had met Evela.
I tried to set the embarrassing memory aside and considered how to get moving north. Further down the road, another line of trees stretched east from the road. I rode up toward it and stopped. There was no one else on the road, and my heart began again to pound.
I tied my hair into a single tight braid to keep it from getting tangled and turned us down the line of trees.
When I gave the sharp call, the horse knew my meaning. His hooves attacked the ground and we were at full pace in the snap of a finger. My legs found his rhythm, and my balance went unchallenged as we raced along the edge of the field. The tree line dwindled, and we thundered into a sea of tall, yellow grass. The carpet was torn in places by whatever herd grazed it, but I saw no other sign of them. Above the pound of the horse’s hooves, his mighty breaths rumbled from his throat as if he were laughing.
Trees came into view on the horizon. My body burned from the exertion, but the comfort of the cover was my only desire. We rode to the forest with renewed energy and pace.
The trees grew bigger and bigger, and then we were amongst them. My good horse slowed and found his own way to a wide stream. I rubbed his neck and dared to look over my shoulder. The grassland was empty. I laughed and clapped my hands. My horse whinnied, walked into the center of the stream, and set his mouth into the water.
I slid out of the saddle to wash my hands and face and began to find my hurts. The taste of blood was in my mouth from the clattering of my teeth, and my thighs and calves tried several times to refuse me.
I saw the stallion approach from the corner of my eye, but before I recognized what he was up to, he butted me with his wide head and I tumbled over with a yelp and a splash. I struggled to my feet, laughed, and squeezed the water from my braid.
“You had fun, didn’t you?” I said and hugged his huge head. “I bet you don’t get to run like that very often, tied together with pack animals.”
He nuzzled me again.
“No more of that now. We have to get moving again.”
He butted me a third time, and I understood he was saying the same to me.
“Clever beast.” I jumped back into the saddle. “Is that your name? Are you my Clever?”
Clever pranced and looked through the trees at the wide fields waiting for us. I agreed, but spotted a row of bunkhouses beneath the rising sun.
“We do not want to go over there, Clever. How about we go north now?”
We found our bearings with the sun’s reluctant help and rode through field after field. We stayed off the roads, the afternoon passed, and the setting sun added a chill to the air. The ugly throb in my legs was the final sign the day needed to end.
I led us into some trees tucked between two hills and struggled out of the saddle. When I looked up at Clever, my pains gave way to concerned. White foam had gathered in places around the saddle and along his neck and shoulders. Was it lather? The word felt right.
I tried to remember what father would do about it. Memories of it all came rushing back—the smell of hay, rye meal, and fresh tack, the small ranch where we lived, and all the many horses he trained. I remembered my mother standing beside me, her big round belly at my ear while we watched him work foals in the paddock.
“Hello, baby brother,” I would say and then listen for the thump of his kicking. The moment was one I had forgotten. I tried to stay in that place for as long as I could, but the memories moved to the day it all came to an end. My father lay sobbing on the floor, and no matter how loud I yelled at my mother she would not wake up.
Clever’s soft nicker drew me back. I dried my eyes and patted his neck.
“Daddy would have loved you.”
He grumbled some more, and I got to work. The saddle was heavy, but I managed it and found a brush and cloth in one of the saddle bags. My good horse calmed with every stroke and when I got the bedroll off the back of the saddle, he rolled around in the grass to scratch the places I had missed.
I slept despite the horse hair in my mouth, nose, and ears, and woke to Clever pawing a trench in the soft ground. He was ready to do it all over again. I was not. It took some time to stand and a while longer to move. I considere
d leaving the heavy saddle behind before I recalled the breed was svelte and had very prominent withers. Trying to ride him bareback would split me in two. It took four tries before I managed to heave the saddle up and Clever was cross by the time we found a stream. Ryegrass grew in every ditch though, and I poached enough yellow beans to last me several days.
We had to detour that afternoon around a long line of men picking a crop, and the same happened twice the next day. The number of men organized for these efforts explained why we saw almost no one else the rest of the ride and I hurried to take advantage. The open, unoccupied spaces allowed me to keep us to a trot for great stretches and once a day I was able to let Clever gallop through a pasture as fast as he wished. Our pace left little doubt that Erik had lost our trail.
As the days rolled on, the plains bunched into grumpy little hills of weak evergreens, and the vast fields dwindled. Proud farmers became scratchers of the earth, and I became more worried that passersby would try to steal my stallion than call for the watch. Somewhere along the way I crossed into the northern province of Trace, but had seen no markers. We slept in shadowed woods, stayed far from the roads, and thanked inquisitive strangers for pointing me in the right direction. My horse, I told them, was a gift from my patron at the capital. No one questioned me after that. Backtracking and poaching from fields and orchards became second nature.
The sixth morning of our flight brought us to the top of a tall hill, and I saw the ocean for the first time. The great emerald-colored expanse was too big to believe. The white crests of waves danced ever toward the shore and I could smell salt in the air. Along the left side of this amazing vista was a hazy line of mountains and in the foreground was a small town and river. Almidi at last.
I had avoided every other town and village, but the sight had me dreaming of a pillow. I made my way down and straight to the first inn I could find. The owner was shabby, curt, and concerned with nothing but the contents of my purse. I bargained for a bed and stable, and while a boy saw to Clever, my head came to rest upon a pillow.
Ghost in the Yew Page 6
