Ailsa felt heavy and enervated. It must be all the emotional ups and downs of the last few days. She had trouble even keeping her eyes open, but she didn’t want to miss anything on this trip. If only everything along this highway didn’t look so much the same . . .
Ailsa jerked awake as the coach pulled to a stop. She couldn’t have slept all day. No, the sun was high overhead and the heat was oppressive. They’d come to a wider green area, surrounding a small oasis. A rustic building made of crude mud bricks stood across a cobbled yard. The coachmen leaped down and began to unhitch the sweaty horses.
One of the guards climbed down from the roof right in front of her, making Ailsa start. He opened her door and stood back. “We’ll stop here for a meal and to change the horses. If you’d care to disembark . . .”
Ailsa stepped down and stood in the yard, uncertain what to do now. She stretched gratefully, easing out the kinks in her neck and legs. The coach’s springs weren’t nearly as good as those on her father’s coach. It was surprising that she’d been able to doze with all the bouncing, but maybe she’d needed that nap. She certainly felt better. The midday heat didn’t seem to bother her so much, even though there was no air moving at all. The others climbed out of the coach more slowly. Ailsa followed them inside.
Inside, a long table of rough boards was already set with five places, platters of cheese, fruit, bread, and two pitchers of water. Ailsa sat down at one end of the table, across from the older woman and her daughter. She poured herself a cup of water before anything else. She’d forgotten how parched the desert could make her feel, even without moving around much. The rude man sat down beside her—too close beside her for Ailsa’s liking. She shifted over a little away from him.
The older woman watched Ailsa as she helped herself to some of the cheese and dried fruit and pulled a piece off the loaf that was clearly meant to be pulled apart rather than sliced.
“So, where is it you’re going?” the older woman asked.
Ailsa swallowed the bite of cheese she’d been chewing. “I’m on my way to the Institute of Magical Arts.”
“By yourself?”
“Oh, my grandmother lives in the capital. She teaches at the Institute, in fact. She’ll meet me when we arrive.”
“Ah,” the older woman said and seemed to relax slightly.
The offensive man edged still closer to Ailsa as he reached across for the pitcher of water. Ailsa moved away from him again.
“What about you?” Ailsa asked the woman across from her, trying hard to ignore the man next to her.
“I’m taking my daughter home. I don’t know what my husband was thinking, moving us out into this horrible desert, but he’ll have to choose between this place and his family. I refuse to stay.”
Ailsa tore a bite-sized piece off her chunk of bread and chewed it, reminding herself that not everyone could be expected to like Far Terra. “What does your husband do?”
“He’s a water mage who came out to this dreadful place on a contract with Baron Mikel. But the baron isn’t living up to his side of the bargain. I wouldn’t stable a cow in that hovel Baron Mikel calls a cottage. And the way he treats Darek—more like a slave than a contracted mage. I know work is hard to come by in Terranion, what with so many higher level water mages to choose from, but there’s no way I’m going to raise my daughter in this wilderness.”
Ailsa stiffened. Far Terra is not a wilderness! Five generations of my family have labored to turn it into a garden. She took a bite of her dried fruit and chewed while she considered what to say. And another mage lost to Far Terra, where they’re needed so badly. Of course the man would follow his family. And, from the sound of it, never come back again. There certainly wouldn’t be anything to keep him here if Baron Mikel wasn’t even keeping his side of the contract. From everything Ailsa had ever heard Baron Mikel was one of the worst and most repressive of the barons. Why couldn’t any of them see that mistreating mages only resulted in fewer and fewer mages to do the work they so desperately needed.
“I don’t understand why the baron would treat Father and us so badly,” the girl said. “Why does he seem to hate mages so much?”
Ailsa sighed. “It’s not hate, exactly. It’s fear.”
The woman slapped her hands down on the table. “Fear? He’s a baron. Second only to the king to hear him tell it. What has he got to be afraid of?”
Ailsa paused to organize a simple version of the very complex central problem of Far Terra. “It’s complicated. Some of it is history. The second king of Far Terra was a wind mage who . . . may have misused his abilities to reinforce his political control over the barons, depending on whose history you read. Mostly, though, it’s that the barons resent how dependent they are on mages to keep Far Terra green. Some of them think that if they don’t keep tight control of mages they’ll either run amok with their talents or withhold them completely. Baron Mikel is one of the worst of those. The more enlightened barons realize that the best way to prevent that from happening is to treat their mages well. But that second king left nearly all of the barons with a deep-seated fear of letting any mage gain too much power.”
The woman across from her chewed thoughtfully. “So, Darek might do better with another baron, then?”
Ailsa shrugged. “Depending on the baron. But he won’t be able to transfer his contract now. There’s a rigid code among the barons against poaching one another’s mages.”
“Too bad.”
Ailsa looked up. Maybe Far Terra didn’t have to lose this particular water mage forever. “He’d have to come back to Terranion first, before he could contract out to another baron—one of the better ones, like Baron Welfel.”
“Ah.”
The ill-mannered man shifted closer again for no reason. “Maybe it would be better not to talk so about those above our station, eh?”
The man was so close now that his arm rubbed against hers and the smell of his sweat spoiled Ailsa’s appetite. She had no farther to go without falling off the bench, so she leaned out. A plump woman, the wife of the station master, appeared at the end of the table next to her. Ailsa was aware of someone standing behind her, too. She hunched automatically.
“Is this man with you, miss?” the station master’s wife asked.
“No!’ Ailsa answered more forcefully than she intended.
“Right then,” said the station master from behind Ailsa’s left shoulder. A broad hand came down between her and the rude man and pushed him unceremoniously several feet down the bench.
Ailsa sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you.”
The station master’s wife sniffed. “We run a respectable place here. No one harasses one of the coach passengers under this roof.” She patted Ailsa’s shoulder. “And just you remember, don’t be shy about calling for help from them royal guards. They’re not supposed to let anyone, passenger or not, harass travelers either. That’s what they get paid for.”
Ailsa nodded.
The woman looked over at the brash man, her eyes boring into him. “Wouldn’t be the first time a difficult passenger was put off the coach to walk back on his own, either. It can be a long, hot, dry walk.”
The man glowered at her and shot one more undecipherable look at Ailsa before turning his attention to his food. Ailsa suppressed a shudder, reminding herself that if the guards would make sure he didn’t bother her until she got to Terranion, then she wouldn’t have to worry about him after that.
The woman walked away, shaking her head, and muttering something under her breath about folks who’d send a defenseless chick like that out on the highway alone. Ailsa didn’t like to think of herself as defenseless, but she had to admit that nothing in her life up ‘til now had prepared her for anything like that unpleasant man. She dropped her eyes to her plate and concentrated on chewing the rustic food in front of her, washing it down with lukewarm water.
Soon after, the coachmen and guards came in for their meal, filling up the unused portions of the table. Then they wer
e all climbing back into the coach. This time, the unpleasant man and the elderly one changed places. Ailsa leaned as far to her side of the coach as she could and looked out the window. After a moment’s thought, she pulled her valise from under her seat to set as a barrier between them. She felt the same lethargy creeping up on her, but she wasn’t comfortable enough to doze off with the unpleasant man staring at her across the narrow coach seat. Fortunately, a breeze had come up in the afternoon, moderating the desert heat somewhat so that she didn’t feel quite as lethargic as she had in the morning.
This trip wasn’t turning out to be as exciting as she’d hoped. It’s going to take four days to get to the Imperial capital. She suppressed a shudder at that thought. She could have stayed safely and comfortably at home—with Sav.
Much too early to be getting homesick. She tried to study the surroundings, instead of thinking about home. The highway they traveled along through the afternoon was indistinguishable from the one they’d traversed in the morning. It ran straight as the flight of an arrow, without even a tiny rise or fall. It was very boring. The only variation of any kind was the two places where they passed smaller way stations where the imperial couriers changed horses.
She was grateful when the horses’ hooves made an unexpectedly louder clatter. It was some change, anyway. Ailsa leaned out the window to see what had caused it. They were on one of the scattered stone bridges crossing a ravine that cut through the plateau of Far Terra and ran down to the low desert floor below. The low desert was much hotter—killing hot—and more barren than the high desert, but the ravines that sliced through the highland at irregular intervals had small watercourses at their bottoms. Because of that, they had different and more plentiful vegetation than other parts of the desert.
Ailsa sat up with interest and leaned out farther to look down. She smiled to see the tops of sycamore trees down below. Her smile turned to a thoughtful frown as she pulled her head in and sat back in her seat. The green of the gully made an uncomfortable contrast to the trees lining the road. Out here, so close to the desert, the signs of trouble were more evident. In the long stretches between these stations, the shade that made this road passable even in summer was broken in too many places by dead and dying trees. The loss of magic was evident even here, on the Imperial Highway.
Late in the afternoon, another oasis came into view up ahead. Ailsa sat up straighter. The closer they came to this new oasis, the more eager she became. Yes, even from here, she could see that there were trees she’d never seen before. And splashes of red and orange that seemed to indicate flowering shrubs or raised beds of other flowering plants.
When the coach pulled to a stop, she didn’t even wait for the guard to open the door. She was out and breathing in the scents of growing things, some of them new and strange to her, before the coachmen had even dismounted. Such a relief after the rancid-sweat smell of the man sitting beside her. She gently touched the fern-like leaves of a huge, spreading tree and went on to inhale the fragrance of some red-flowered shrub.
The routine was much the same here—a simple meal at a large, rough-hewn table—but this way station was bigger than the last. After the meal, the passengers were led upstairs, where two dormitory rooms—men on the right, ladies on the left—waited for them.
The older woman removed her outer clothing, laying it out on the foot of her bed, and was soon snoring softly. Her daughter went into the small wash room attached to the ladies’ dormitory. Ailsa was too keyed up to settle for sleep quite yet. Instead, she sat down at the small table by the window, lit a shielded candle, and started to write the letters to Mama and Papa even though there wasn’t much to report yet. Thinking about her parents brought back her last view of them—and of Sav—that morning. She set aside that page and started a new one.
Dear Sav,
This is our first overnight stop in a dormitory room in the way station. You should talk to your father about adding a little interest to the highway—a bump, a couple of bends, anything, really. I never knew anything could be that boring before today.
I saw you as the coach left this morning. The look on your face almost made me weep. Don’t take it so hard. It’s only a year, after all. I miss you already.
Chapter 5: Across the Border
Ailsa rode with her head out the window of the coach as they neared their overnight stop on the third day. She’d thought the mountains with snow-capped peaks—actual frozen water—were amazing, but ahead, through the trees, was something even more wonderful. More water than she’d ever seen in one place before—a lake. She drank in the view as the coach sped down the road.
The forest marched down to the banks of the lake, with only a narrow band of green separating the trees’ roots from the water. Everywhere Ailsa looked there were green, growing things, sometimes clambering over each other in their exuberance. Vines climbed partway up the trunks of some of the trees. Cattails grew like a miniature forest by the lake shore where the water wasn’t covered with the huge round leaves of water lilies.
That night’s accommodation was an inn—a real inn—set on the banks of that lake, with vines climbing the walls. Ailsa could have danced from the coach to the inn, but she tried to walk with proper decorum. Her mood had improved every time they approached an oasis and was best of all on the shores of this lake. At that thought Ailsa stopped for a moment and then had to restrain herself from skipping the rest of the way to the inn. A mage was always drawn to the source of his or her power. Maybe . . . maybe she’d turn out to be a water mage, like Aunt Izbel. It’d explain why Mama, a heat mage, had never been able to teach her much magic. She could do a lot for Far Terra as a water mage.
Her steps slowed. But . . . but if she were a water mage—something so important to Far Terra—how could she give that up to marry Sav? Energy sang through her veins, making it impossible to hold a negative thought. No. She wouldn’t worry about that, yet. Time enough when she knew for sure what her talent was. She might be only a low-level water mage. Or she might not be a water mage at all. There was no point in ruining the moment over something that might not happen. She felt too good for that.
Ailsa looked toward the lake. She’d love to go down to the shore and get a better look. So much water was a wonder not to be missed, but it was already getting dark as the sun slipped behind the surrounding mountains. Already the trees on the far shore had merged into a single broad shadow. She could barely make out the roofs of the village farther down the road from the inn. Better not. She’d get up early in the morning so she’d have a chance to go down and get a better look at the lake. She’d probably get a better view then, anyway.
Ailsa turned in a circle. Maybe it was just her mood, but everything looked brighter, more prosperous, and just generally healthier than similar institutions back home in Far Terra. Was it just her, or was the lack of magic really harming Far Terra that much? Maybe that was something she could learn in her year at the Institute of Magical Arts.
Since this was a proper inn, Ailsa was assigned a private room—her first real privacy since she’d boarded the coach in Far Terra three days ago. It was a very pleasant room, with a large bed, a small table and chair, and a window that had a view over the lake. There was even a small fire to take the evening chill off the room. She asked to have her dinner sent up and removed the dusty dress she’d worn for three days. In private, she could wear her comfortable—and dust-free—robe.
While she waited for her food, she took out the letters she’d started to her parents and Sav. There wasn’t much to add, yet. She didn’t feel like confiding her speculation about her possible talent. Especially when she was only a few days away from knowing for sure. She was still too energized to rest, though. She went to stand by the window and marvel at the lake and forest.
Ailsa turned at a knock on the door. That’d be her supper. “Enter.” She crossed to the desk to fold up her letters and put them out of the way.
She heard the door open and then shut. That didn’t seem
right. A servant would normally have left the door open. Ailsa looked up and gasped. Not her supper. The insolent man from the coach. He’d kept his distance since the stationmaster had dealt with him that first day.
“What are you doing here?” Ailsa tried to keep her voice steady.
“I’ve been watching you.”
Ailsa swallowed. The man hadn’t caused her any more trouble after the station master at that first stop spoke to the guards. She’d tried hard to forget that he was even on the same coach. Now he was in her room and between her and the only door. She put her hand up to hold the throat of her robe closed.
He reached behind him to push the bolt into place, locking the door. Why hadn’t she thought to do that herself? This inn had felt so comfortable, almost like home, and she never bolted her door at home.
The man looked her up and down. “Pretty thing like you, traveling alone. Mixing into things that aren’t your business. I think you and I could have some fun. Much better than the kind of trouble you could get into in the capital.”
Ailsa backed up until she bumped into the window frame. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. “Get out! Guards! Guards!”
The man laughed. “Those are King’s Guards. They went off duty soon as we crossed the border. They’re all down in the tavern drinking up their pay. I bought them a round myself, to get them started. They all think of me as their friend, now.”
The man started toward her. Ailsa glanced behind her. Her room was on the third floor and there was nothing below her but a cobblestone yard. No escape that way. No one was going to come to help either. Even if he’d lied about the guards, he’d bolted the door against them. Ailsa had to do something herself. But what could she do? He was too much bigger and stronger. The only weapon she had was magic.
Daughter of the Disgraced King Page 4
