It would, at that. After a haul such as the one the Locals were presenting, no bandit could bear to seek safety far from the goods. There was always the chance his cohorts, unsupervised, would squirrel away precious bits and pieces for themselves. Reandn nodded absently, still thinking about the tension on Cyrill's face as he'd approached the tavern. "What else?"
"That's it. Simple plan, less to go wrong." But Cyrill's gaze slid away from Reandn's.
Reandn studied the Local, and his eyes narrowed. "What else?" he repeated, voice sliding down.
"Savill," Cyrill said, and studied the opposite wall for a moment. "He's a sharp man, that minor. He knew my information came from someone seasoned. Struck him odd that such a person wanted to stay out of the doing of it."
"You told him," Reandn stated flatly, looking out into the street as if expecting to see the minor, flanked by Locals, coming up for another chat. He took a deep breath. Suddenly Maurant felt very crowded.
Cyrill gave a firm shake of his head. "Didn't do it," he said. "Told him I didn't know your name—it's only the truth."
Reandn's deep breath came out slowly, but he couldn't relax. "He knows your posting, though. He'll find out the tavern's in your territory...."
Cyrill was nodding, reluctantly. "Son," he said, "You make me some nervous. I've give my word to keep you out of this, when it's obvious you're running from something. Now, hold on—" he said, when Reandn stiffened, and pinned him with cold grey eyes, "I'm not asking you for details, but it'd be some help to this old Local's conscience to at least know whatever you done isn't any worse than these fellows we're after are up to. Then it'd be easy to consider it a kind of a trade."
Alarm faded to mild, bitter amusement. "Then sleep well tonight," Reandn told him. "I've just got somewhere else to be—but I don't want to be slowed down, and I get the feeling any interest from your minor will do just that."
"He does like to sink his teeth into things he figures don't fit his ways. Don't suppose you'll take offense if I say you don't fit, not a bit."
That earned a genuine grin. "I'll be gone soon. I don't care what you tell him after that."
Cyrill moved back out into the doorway, sliding his thumbs into the belt that cinched his sleeveless tunic. "I'll let you know how it comes out," he said, stepping into the street.
Reandn watched him go, and began making travel plans.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 12
As the shadows grew long and the evening cooled, Reandn left his post and sought Ania. He found her in the kitchen with Melly, nibbling on leftovers while the cooks banked the stove fires. Reandn picked a slice of gravy-soaked bread from the scraps plate and mutely pointed a finger at his scabbing face.
Ania wiped her hands on a wash rag. "I ought to make you find a mirror and do this for yourself," she said, but winked at Melly.
Melly ducked her head on a smile. "If it wasn't him it'd be some stray cat you found at the docks. And I think he's cuter, don't you?"
Ania snorted. "Not than that pretty little calico I had last time. And she was better natured, too." But the glance she gave him, as she dabbed at his face, was uncertain and full of concern about their morning confrontation.
"Being contrary is one of the things I do best," he informed her, waiting until she caught his eye and relaxed into a smile before he presented his face for her care. But— "Ow!"
"Sorry," Ania muttered, biting her lip in concentration. "It looks awful, but really it's doing well, if you don't count this spot." She lightly touched his jawline, and dabbed an extra bit of cream there.
"Then we won't." He waited for her to cap the little jar and held out his hand.
She exchanged a quick glance with Melly but didn't give him the jar. One of the scullery boys jostled her, unnoticed; the suggestion of a frown wrinkled her brow. "You wouldn't take it unless..." She took a breath. "You're leaving."
Melly shook her head, quiet regret in her voice. "She doesn't like it when she loses a stray before it's healed."
Reandn almost laughed, knowing he was far beyond Ania's ability to heal. But at her distress, he shook his head. "I'll probably be gone tomorrow, and if you'd tell Kelton I'd be grateful; I haven't seen him."
Ania looked away, her lips thinning. "I've already told him you probably would," she said. "After this morning. You're so private, and I know I offended you badly. Please don't go just because of me. I won't be talking to Tanager anymore."
"Ania," Reandn said, gently admonishing. "You take too much on yourself." She wouldn't meet his eyes, and Melly cast anxious glances between the two of them. "I've got places to go, and things to take care of. Nothing to do with you." Gently, he took the salve jar from her hand. "If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have made it past my first afternoon here, and I know it. I don't want you thinking any differently. Strays like to be remembered fondly."
Her smile was somewhat tremulous, but it was genuine. "All right," she said. "You've got pay coming to you. If you wait, I'll get it." She walked briskly out the back door, head conspicuously high, and headed for Kelton's house and his private workroom.
In the quiet way of someone not used to speaking her thoughts out loud, Melly said, "I'm sorry you're going. She don't take on strays all the time like she said—not men, anyways. But right from the first time she saw you, she... Well, she likes you. We both do," she added, and then fled.
He hadn't expected it to be hard to leave them, too. But he wiped the thought off his face before Ania returned, all brisk and business.
"The week's pay," she said, dropping the coins into Reandn's hand. "And don't you dare forget to take care of that face. And don't get yourself into any more trouble like it. And—"
"And I'll wash behind my ears every day," Reandn interrupted smoothly, but amended it to, "Well, most days." He tucked the coins away, checked the seating of his boot knife, and adjusted his half-chap in preparation for skirting the road—and any of Shuyler's men—on the way to the market. If all went well, the market would be sparsely guarded tonight, and he would have an easy time of it.
Ania tried an unsuccessful smile. As he straightened, he said firmly, "Ania, I mean it. Forget this morning. Just remember you've been a friend when I needed one." He waited for her nod and gave her quick kiss on the cheek on his way out the back door. No room for hesitation, no room for doubt. Not with Ronsin still free to steal lives as he might well pluck flowers.
Once outside the Unicorn, Reandn flexed the tension out of his shoulders—as if he could shrug off those he left behind—and struck out for the market. At last, time to move on. One more night, came the litany.
And this time, he smiled.
~~~
Although two of Shuyler's men waited for him on the road to the market, their hearts weren't in it. Reandn avoided them easily, and found the few remaining market guards drinking and loudly bemoaning their fate—that they were the few token men left behind while the rest went after Savill's dower. When it came right down to it, Reandn was just as unhappy to be left out of the evening's action; he prowled the woods, too restless to sit still even though his movement increased his risk.
When morning came, he prepared to ride out—no matter the results of the raid. The merchants themselves were tardy, no doubt waiting somewhere, together, for the results of the Locals' work. He'd wait for Bergren, he decided, and that was it. What supplies he could afford were already bought.
He picked through his equipment, checking straps, cleaning the bay's bridle, and finally pulling the horse out for a good grooming. He was picking out a front hoof, pondering the arrival of the woman on the other side of the bay, when she said—or barely said—"Reandn..."
He dropped the hoof, wiped his hands on his thighs and found himself looking over the bay's back at the young woman whose betrothed had been killed in the inn. Ciandra. She looked just as pale as the day her betrothed had been killed, thoroughly unprepared for her environment and the task she seemed to have taken upon herself.
"Do you remember me?" she asked, and her hands twisted at the layered material of her skirt.
"Yes, of course." He trailed a hand along the bay's side and rump as he passed behind it, and watched as she formed and abandoned words along the way. "You don't look like you want to be here. Can I help you with something?"
"It...it's the other way around, I hope. I came to warn you." Another hesitation, and then she plunged into it. "You've got to leave Maurant."
For a moment Reandn couldn't quite reconcile the words with the messenger.
She plunged into abrupt explanation. "Jilla made a condolence call at our house last night," she said. "She isn't very fond of you. Of course she talked about—about what happened that day. She was very pleased to say that Savill's just heard from King's Keep."
He gave her a sharp look. Already?
"It was the regular monthly dispatch—just gossip, usually. Things like the Keep Wizard's left for Solace to take retirement, the Resiore Highborn are still causing trouble over a missing boy, who attended the festival... But there was something about a missing Wolf First, and some sort of killing spree." She looked at him, her eyes taking in his expression—and his features. "They don't know if the Wolf is dead or not—they don't even know if he was responsible for the killing—but they want him back. He...they said he was just above average size, with dark blond hair. And...and grey eyes." She looked directly at his, and if she lacked confidence, she at least showed no fear of him.
They don't know if I'm responsible for the killing? How could they even think it?
Who found the Resiore boy's trail—and lost it?
Who reported the hole in the pond ice, which delayed serious searching for that boy?
Who went missing next? Kavan. Adela.
And probably much easier to believe Reandn had done it and fled than to imagine a Wolf First being taken down and missing.
And that meant they still didn't know about the magic.
Ciandra caught his eye again. "They named you, Reandn. Savill's coming for you. Now."
Reandn was still a long moment. He pushed a hand through his hair, holding tight to one last, finally reassuring thought. If Ronsin had killed again, they'd know it hadn't been Reandn. No one else had died...or disappeared. But once the wizard reached Solace, he'd have countless opportunities.
Unless Reandn got there first.
"You seem pretty well informed," he told Ciandra.
"I told you," she said, "Jilla was at my house last night. It wasn't hard to get her to talk."
"I don't imagine it was," Reandn said, suddenly feeling weary. "Do you have any idea just when Savill is going to come for me?"
"I'm not sure. He might come out here, but I think he might wait for you at the Unicorn." She looked out over the heady pines. "He knows he won't find you in these woods, I'd say."
Then he still had some time. Savill wouldn't send the Locals out to the market until after Reandn was late in town; even then, the men might stall some if Cyrill put in a word for him. If he left within the hour, he'd have a good start on them—though it looked like he wasn't heading back for the Keep anymore. Solace. How far away is it?
A rustle of Ciandra's skirts made him realize he'd been silent for some moments, one hand absently smoothing the bay's thick mane. "I don't think it would do you any good to be found alone out here. I'll take care."
"I'm not alone," Ciandra said, smiling for the first time, though it quickly faded. "Gervase's family—and his younger brother Nuri—were there last night, too. It was his idea to warn you, but...he just couldn't quite face you. It's what he saw, I think."
"I don't blame him. But go. I won't be here long, myself."
She gathered her skirts above the horse yard obstacles, yet couldn't quite seem to make herself leave. Her expression was uncertain, as though she herself wasn't sure what she wanted—but Reandn, more familiar with the scars of violence, knew well enough that she saw in him a link to Gervase. Once she left, once he was gone, there would be one less tie to the dead man. He absently rubbed the ring on his little finger. "It'll be all right," he said gently. "Go, Ciandra."
She blinked, and gathered herself. "Take good care," she said, and walked quickly away.
Reandn returned to the bay, saddling him to leaving the girth loose and the bridle slung over the saddle while he made last minute adjustments in the sparsely filled saddlebags—a hammer, an extra shoe for front and back, horseshoe nails and all the grain he could fit into the roomy bag. The other side held trail rations he'd picked up the evening before, all but depleting his supply of parscores. The journey would be made with just enough to keep him going; he only hoped the bay would hold up as well.
Finally, the merchants arrived—every single one of them, clumped in a jubilantly noisy group with no apparent awareness that Savill might be breathing down their necks. Reandn didn't have to guess how the night's work had gone; he breathed a sigh of relief and tightened the cinch another pull. The bay swished his tail and gave a quick sideways nod—not quite daring a nip or a kick, and lifting his hind leg just an inch before putting it back down. Reandn gave him an absent pat as Bergren separated from the others, his face full of exhilarated relief.
"We waited together all night," the merchant said. "Got the word only a short while ago from a fellow named Cyrill. They're," he nodded at the other, "all pretty pleased with you, son."
"The Locals did the work," Reandn snorted.
"You know better. And even if you don't, I hope it won't keep you from accepting their thanks."
Reandn shook his head. "I'm on my way out, Bergren, and I can't waste any time about it."
"You'll want to take the time for this." Bergren led Reandn away from the bay. "Their thanks are more substantial than words."
As it turned out, there were plenty of words as well—too many of them, stretching out his departure. The bay irritably endured the fuss of supplies over both loins and shoulders—until loose straps tickled his flanks and he scattered the merchants with half-hearted bucking. Bergren declared it a good test for the security of the load, and, finally catching the extent of Reandn's concern, shooed the other merchants away. Reandn was settled in the saddle when Bergren returned, alone.
The horse trader looked up at him for a long moment, hunting words. Finally he put a hand on Reandn's leg. Reandn brought his fist to his throat in the Wolf's salute, and turned the bay's head away from Maurant.
As a protest to all he'd put up with, the gelding instantly stuck his nose in the air and took off at full speed. Bergren's laugh fell quickly out of earshot, and Reandn couldn't help a grin of his own, just as glad to be moving. The bay tilted his head slightly to keep an eye on his rider, his nose pointed up just in case there was a jerk on the reins.
But Reandn knew better. "Skygazer," he named the horse, sitting the rolling gait as easily as the pleasure of an easy canter.
Sky the gelding gave a moist, noisy snort and left Maurant far behind them.
~~~~~
Chapter 13
Reandn traveled heavily in the early morning, beating the sun and avoiding other travelers in the classically heavy mists...and leaving his mind free to wander in places he'd rather it wouldn't go at all.
Ronsin. The man had gone to Solace, just as he'd told Adela he would—and no little wonder. Once an educational and retreat nexus for wizards, it now served as a center for all learning. No doubt many of Ronsin's colleagues lingered there, bemoaning their lost status.
The magic hadn't fled all at once—at first it had been a gradual fade. Spells misfiring, powerful wizards unable to access the potent ability they'd once wielded with ease. By the time Reandn was a child, there was very little left, and then—one day when he was in his early, awkward young man's growth—it simply vanished.
But Ronsin had somehow gotten his magic back. And now he had to be stopped—even if it was by a single man on an insecure horse, finding his way to Solace.
He had no familiarity with these roads, n
or with the rolling, forested hills of southeastern Keland—but Solace, small as it was, remained well-traveled. Once Reandn aimed himself in the proper direction, the occasional inquiry at roadhouses along the way kept him straight and gave him distance and travel time.
Far too much of it. Plenty of time for Ronsin to pick up, in Solace, with what he'd left off at King's Keep. But Sky, carrying Reandn and provisions, could move no faster. Sky was not a mount Reandn would have wanted on patrol. He was sensitive, like Willow—but unlike Willow, he had plenty of history behind him, and took careful handling to avoid triggering another run-away. But he was willing to work, and could pick up a medium rack that was easy on both horse and man, keeping it up for miles.
Each morning, accompanied by the orchestration of almost-familiar birds, they moved out into the gloom of the dawn. In the midday heat, Reandn pulled off Sky's bridle, replaced it with a halter, and hobbled him so he could pick and nibble at the road's edge while Reandn pretended to rest. Only in late afternoon did they pick up a steady pace again, traveling on into darkness.
Nights, he dreaded most. With Sky tended and some semblance of a meal eaten, there was nothing to occupy his mind but the things he least wanted there. Adela's birthday, any day now. Their anniversary, not long after that. The thousand little things about her that he missed.
He tried, instead, to worry about travel details—like how he'd manage more grain, once his supply ran out. He'd been miserly, grazing the horse for as many hours as he could—but Sky was losing weight, and Reandn didn't have enough money to supply grain all the way to Solace.
Unless he used Wolf Rights. Out here, he'd likely have more problems enforcing Rights than worries about his activity reaching the Keep or Ronsin—but it would do him little good to attract attention, any way he looked at it.
The hand-span of days before he found the direct road to Solace felt like twice as many, and he spotted the freshly painted sign with relief. But almost as an omen, Sky took one step upon it and tripped, catching his front shoe with his hind toe and tearing it off his foot. He stumbled a few awkward few steps and stopped.
Touched By Magic (The King's Wolf Saga) Page 15
