He jiggled the reins and encouraged the team to head inland.
“Hey, where you going?”
“Off the road.” He glanced back at her. “This is the main highway between Shi and Na. If a patrol trips over us, they’ll raise a ruckus.”
Lorel patted her long sword’s hilt. “I’ll take care of them.”
Tsai’dona rolled her eyes, led Sumach into the oak-sheltered meadow, and started to unsaddle the mare.
“Then you can pay the fines, turybird.” He guided the team to the edge of the meadow. Or meant to. They stopped of their own volition on a gravel area about five feet away from the grass.
Bess peered at the ground. “This does look like the best place to set up camp. Someone dug a firepit here.”
Lorel flung up her hands.
The gelding reared.
She grabbed its bridle and tugged it down again. “You sure act like you got some warhorse blood in you.” She patted its shoulder with the most affection she’d shown yet, and quickly unsaddled the beast.
Viper worked at unharnessing the team with Bess’s help, but Lorel and Tsai’dona finished with their horses first and took over the chore.
Avoiding patches of poison oak, he and Bess tramped around the trees and gathered dry firewood, but Lorel hustled over and rounded up a pile of newly fallen branches. Blast, that stuff would smoke from here to Setoya. But he hated to say anything since she was trying to be helpful.
How had she survived the trip across the dragon’s mountains without him?
Tsai’dona wandered over and sorted through the pile of green wood.
Lorel dashed to the back of the wagon, dug through the middle trunk, and rushed into the undergrowth with what appeared to be a handful of coney snares.
Under Tsai’dona’s care, a pile of dry wood grew on the gravel a few feet from the wagon. She arranged more branches inside the firepit.
Bess grinned at her. “You two do have a system of sorts.”
Other than lighting the fire, he had to admit he’d been useless since they’d rescued him. But he was good at creating fire. He raised one hand.
Kyri thrust the door up an inch and stuck its head out. “This one admonishes the hatchling to ruminate upon its proximity to the nemesis bastion.”
“Blast. Aren’t we far enough yet?”
The serpent stared at him and withdrew into the wagon. The door thunked shut.
That meant no magic allowed. He clambered up to the driver’s platform, lifted the door, and started to crawl inside.
A small leather prairie dog leapt past him.
“Izzy, stay close,” Tsai’dona shouted.
A star-studded black form shouldered him aside. He lost his grip on the door.
Air whirled. The ground dashed toward his head. Sharp gravel flew toward his eyes.
Kyri’s long body wrapped around him before his face hit the rocks. “This one apologizes.” It righted him and lowered him gently to his foot. “This one assumed the guardian slumbered.”
It didn’t surprise him. It was a sneaky little beast. And not at all little! It outweighed him by ten pounds.
“If the hatchling is unperturbed, this one shall procure provender.” The serpent didn’t even pause before slithering off into the underbrush.
He sighed, shook the shivers out of his system, climbed back up on the wagon, and crawled inside. He reached into his matches stash (still low; he’d forgotten to replenish it), and exited the wagon with as much dignity as he could after being attacked by a serdil. If he was lucky, it’d run away again.
Regrettably, the little monster sat next to Tsai’dona. It gazed into the woods as if it guessed where Lorel was, but knew better than to disturb her hunting.
That was ridiculous. He was giving the beast far too much credit.
He knelt and lit the tinder that Bess handed him.
Tsai’dona’s face flushed red. “Sorry. You spoiled me, the way you just wish the fire to burn.”
It was nice someone appreciated him.
By the time the coals were ready, he, Tsai’dona, and Bess had collected ample greens for a tasty salad.
Lorel returned with five snared coneys. She gutted all five into a large bowl. Her not-so-little monster slurped down the blood and entrails as fast as she disemboweled them.
Blood magic eased toward him. He backed away, but the lavender haze followed him until he concentrated on dispelling it. Praise the Thunderer. Maybe he had learned something useful from the dragon, after all, even if it was only better focus.
Through his jacket sleeve, he fingered the dragon-shaped scar on his upper arm, and felt the dragon’s bracelet move under his skin. Would she hear him when he called her? Would she come?
No point in worrying about it now. He had to find two more wielders of the magical weapons and a wizard to bind their power before he could march on the Mindbender.
His turybird tossed four of the coneys to Tsai’dona, who skinned and quartered them. The fifth, Lorel skinned, filleted, and handfed to her blasted cub.
How could the creature eat so much? He couldn’t finish half a coney on his own. Which was a good thing, considering Lorel would devour two of the carcasses.
Bess settled next to the fire with two frying pans, oil, a bit of flour, and his box of spices. Soon a wonderful aroma filled the meadow.
He, however, was entirely extraneous to the whole procedure. But there was one thing he did well. He climbed back into the wagon and fetched out the new grimoire.
Lorel snorted, but continued to fuss over her monster.
Tsai’dona grinned, but politely turned away.
Praise the Thunderer, Bess was too busy cooking to make even a nonverbal comment.
He settled in a sunny spot in the grass and gingerly opened the little book.
No smoke this time. No silver mist attacked him. Maybe earlier it had been closed long enough the magic had built up inside, waiting for release.
Or, more likely, Kyri had done something to it to neutralize it. Once the serpent admitted it had magic, it stopped being quite as shy about using it.
He paged through the grimoire, hoping to identify the wizard. The closest thing to a name he found was ‘Forest,’ and it was near the end of the writing.
It couldn’t be Forest’s grimoire. Trevor had lectured about the wizard Forest, who was one of many people who died in Feda’s war against a necromancer, over seven hundred years ago.
Could he possibly have a seven-century-old grimoire in his lap? It would be more wondrous than riding a bahtdor!
A sleepy cloud blocked out his sunlight for a moment and reminded him of his original goal. He riffled through the pages until he found the weather prediction spell.
Huge handwriting sprawled over the page. Only three sentences fit on the sheet.
‘Scry for the air pressure one thousand feet above your position.’
Blast. He’d forgotten he hadn’t learned how to scry yet. But it couldn’t be all that hard. It wouldn’t hurt to try.
He concentrated on the air far above his head. It felt, well, light as air.
On to the next stage.
‘Scry for the air density ten miles inland.’
What difference did that make? Still, he had to give it a go. He made a guess at how far ten miles might be and looked again.
The air felt heavier upcountry, as though it were sinking. Now, that was fascinating. And a few clouds were moving inland as though they were pulled on a string. Or pushed by the breeze that was beginning to puff around him.
How intriguing. What was next?
‘Compare the relative pressures.’
Fine. One felt high, the other felt low. And? What was he supposed to do with them?
He turned the page. A completely unrelated enchantment filled the next sheet. Something about searching for water.
A three-line spell? Without any hints? What a complete waste of time.
Maybe he’d done it wrong. He’d never had much luck with co
nventional spells. Maybe he needed to chant the words.
While he ate (he hated to admit it, but Bess was a better cook than he was), he contemplated the words of the spell. Boring. Perhaps he needed to rearrange things a bit.
Throughout the meal, he thought about the chant and ignored the girls’ whines about the freshening wind, though he remembered to complement Bess on her cooking abilities. Finally the dishes were washed and put away.
Praise the Thunderer he’d remembered to buy several notebooks while they were in Shi, even if he did forget the matches. He pulled the newest from his jacket’s inner pocket and scrawled his chant on the next empty page.
One thousand feet above my head.
Sixty thousand in from the sea.
One is high, the other low.
Explicate the disparity.
Lorel hugged her monster tighter and frowned. “Ain’t the wind rising?”
Tsai’dona nodded. “So’s the ocean. It’s topping the cliff.”
“Hey, that’s wild.” Lorel stood and stared out at the sunset-lit sea. “It’s sloshing all over the place.” She frowned. “Awful lot of clouds moving in.”
Tsai’dona frowned. “My hair is standing on end. What’s he up to?”
Bess stood and walked closer to him. “Viper, are you doing anything unusual?”
“Not yet. Listen to this.”
Lorel groaned. “Not your weird poetry again.”
“Turybird. Hush for a moment. How does this sound? An tausend fots ufan huvud.”
Lorel slapped her forehead. “Bitter blood! I thought I got you broke of using dragon talk.”
The turybird. He ignored her and concentrated on his chant. “Secsageni tausend ufan zee.”
Wind rushed through their camp. The cookfire flared, spewing sparks across the meadow.
Bess pushed gray hair out of her face and tottered toward him. “Viper, stop!”
How much trouble could a scrying spell cause? He pushed out the next line. “An be hucha, anteros lagr.”
Bess halted several feet away from him, hovering as if she couldn’t get any closer.
Lorel stomped to his side and tried to pick him up, but she couldn’t seem to touch him.
How odd. Could it be a normal side effect of a scrying spell? He’d ask Kyri later.
Thick, dark clouds blotted out the sky.
Tsai’dona pushed Lorel toward the meadow. “You grab Poppy, I’ll get Periwinkle. I have a feeling we should be ready to run.”
The blasted cub yowled. Izzy hopped close to the monster and cuddled against it.
Lorel spun away from him. “I’m putting the noncombatants inside first.” She scooped up Izzy and the cub, sprang to the driver’s platform, and shoved them inside the wagon. “Toad, you’re on guard duty.”
The door slammed down.
But Kyri was still out hunting. The wretched cub would wreck his wagon again. At the moment, it didn’t really matter. Only the spell mattered.
Bess managed to get all of their gear hurled inside the bottom trunk before Lorel tossed her up to the driver’s bench.
“Grab his coat and be ready to drive,” the turybird shouted above the wind. “He ain’t worth spit after he does magic.”
Silly girl. He wasn’t doing magic, he was looking for the storm.
But it was unreasonably hard to squeeze out the last line of the chant. The team was harnessed and the riding horses were saddled before he forced the words past his icy lips.
“Explicar tha disparite.”
The clouds blackened. Rain poured into his face, blown horizontal by the wind. Waves plunged over the sea cliff and rushed inland. A nearby sapling crashed to the ground.
Blast. He’d made a mess of the spell somehow.
A huge chunk of the cliff collapsed into the sea.
The sandblasted ocean had started out too close. Now it was forty feet closer. They really should move inland.
He tried to stand, to reach the wagon.
His legs refused to hold him. He plopped onto his rear end on the muddy gravel. Blast, blast, sandblast. He had to get up!
“You little speck of Loom lint!” Lorel wrapped a soggy blanket around him, scooped him up, and thumped him onto the driver’s bench beside Bess. “Don’t you ever learn?”
Learn what? That he didn’t know enough magic? It was the reason he was practicing.
But the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, and if they had, the wind would have blown them away.
Besides, Lorel wasn’t listening. She dashed away and leapt onto her horse.
It was a beautiful flying mount. He wished he could tell her so. And her evil gelding put up with her weight landing on its back without complaint. It galloped inland as if it were in a race.
Bess shook the reins, but the roans were already on the move.
What was the hurry? It was only a little rain. Well, a lot of rain. Water surged around the team’s knees and halfway up the wagon’s wheels.
Hmm. They might be in trouble.
Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed overhead. Good. The Thunderer would look out for him.
Bess whimpered and clung to the flapping reins. “I hate typhoons.”
He reached out and patted her hand. “Only a cyclone,” he mumbled. His wind-blasted mouth wasn’t working yet. “Not a tornado. No worries.”
She inspected him, grinned, eased her arm and one rein over his head, and pulled him close to her. “No worries, pet. We’ll manage. Whatever did you do?”
“Just looked at it.”
She huffed and wiped rain out of her eyes. “I’d hate to see you actually do something.”
Maybe she had a point.
The roans splashed toward the mountains. The wagon rolled slightly uphill. But only slightly. The water was rising faster than they were.
Water rose above the horses’ hocks.
Bess jiggled the reins. Or rather, her hands. The wind tossed the reins around so much the team probably didn’t notice her encouragement.
Viper leaned closer and shouted into her ear. “You don’t need to tell them where to go. They traveled from Padue to Land’s End to Noran without much guidance from me.”
Even though she’d been squinting against rain and wind, her eyes got big. “You’ve been to Land’s End?”
Thunderer’s dice. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that part of their journey. He pretended he hadn’t heard her over the screaming wind.
She gave him a hard look and shouted, “We will discuss this later.”
Blast. How did he get saddled with three pushy females? The next weapon holder better be a boy. He was tired of being outvoted, even if he usually got the last word.
Onward the wagon rolled. The roans stubbornly slogged forward. Gloomy dusk faded into true night.
Lorel rode back on her tall gelding. The poor beast wasn’t nearly as big as the team. Her stirrups dragged in the storm surge.
He hoped Tsai’dona kept riding uphill. Her little mare would be washed out to sea if she tried to rejoin them.
“Light ahead,” Lorel shouted. “A house, maybe. Tsai’s watching it, waiting for us up at the ridge.”
Praise the Thunderer, they’d be out of the water soon. He raised his fist high, and waved her back uphill.
She turned the gelding and they staggered out of sight.
A treetop snapped and crashed to the ground.
The roans lowered their heads and labored onward.
Three huge oaks roared and screamed as their roots pulled out of the dirt. The splashes of their falls could be heard all the way to Setoya.
The team shivered, changed course a few times, and trudged uphill. It took them seven hundred years to reach the top of ridge where Lorel and Tsai’dona loitered.
Lorel grinned at him and shouted, “Great storm, ain’t it?”
Tsai’dona’s mouth fell open, but she shook her head and continued to stare into the night.
“Bahtdor bait, you’d complement the abuelo snake that
was trying to eat you.” He wanted to say more, but his throat was too sore from screaming over the gale.
The turybird laughed.
Tsai’dona pointed into the forest and shouted something. “Light” was the only word he caught.
Light meant safety. They could shelter the horses on the inland side of the building if they didn’t find a stable or barn.
He pumped his fist and pointed in the same direction.
Instead of hurrying ahead, the girls rode on either side of the wagon.
Why weren’t they protecting their horses? They were taking the bodyguarding business far too seriously.
But the cyclone screeched around them. He didn’t have a chance of being heard.
At least none of the equines were above their fetlocks (in Sumach’s case) in water. The team was wading through water only hoof deep.
The wind tore at all of them. Branches crashed around them. Here in the forest the danger was even worse.
Was there anything he could do to help?
He checked his energy levels. He’d mostly recovered from the scrying spell. Besides, that was hours ago. He should be able to do something. But what?
Shields might help. Against the branches anyway. Maybe not against a whole tree.
He eased a shield over Lorel and Hemlock. A bahtdor-sized glow enveloped them. Judging by the flailing of Hemlock’s tail, the wind around them lessened.
Praise the Thunderer. But the shield was too big, draining him too fast. He shrank it until it seethed only a foot away from Lorel and her horse.
Hemlock snapped at the glow, but Lorel didn’t seem to notice it.
Good. He eased a second shield around Tsai’dona and Sumach.
The mare shook her head, but didn’t bite at the shield.
Tsai’dona thrust her hands through her hair and looked back. She glowered at him.
He grinned at her. Surely she wasn’t complaining about protection?
She shrugged and returned her gaze to the slowly growing light.
A sharp crack shrieked above the wind.
Viper looked up.
A treetop plummeted through branches that didn’t slow it at all.
Blast. It was headed right at him. He hastily threw a shield over the wagon and the team.
Bess jerked backwards. The reins were yanked out of her hands.
Pine needles scraped his face. The weight of a straw-stuffed pillow landed in his lap.
Alchemy's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 5) Page 24
