“Ransom? That’s a good thing, yes? Her people will pay it?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Although this stretch of trail was not nearly as exposed as their last two encampments, and although Edric’s muscles ached with fatigue and his body craved food to make up for the energy used in laran monitoring, he lay awake after the others had started snoring. His thoughts kept going to Kyria. Even if he dared to use his starstone, he could not reach her mind at such a distance, but that did not stop him from thinking about it. He told himself that Francisco had experience with the people of these mountains, and therefore must be right—the men of Sain Erach would not harm Kyria for fear of losing their ransom. But she was alone, a gently reared young woman in the hands of rough, lawless men.
The more he thought such things, the more his fears fed on themselves, the more tightly wound his nerves, and the farther away sleep receded. At last, however, the demands of his body overrode the anxieties of his mind, and he drifted off. Once or twice he startled awake, heart pounding. The camp lay still and silent, except for the snoring of the men and the restless movement of the horses. Once, however, he heard a voice, low and indistinct: Dom Ruyven.
“. . . will not harm her . . . what the good captain said.”
After a pause, Alayna’s voice answered, but Edric could not make out her words. Then she began sobbing. Dom Ruyven made hushing noises but said no more.
Light flooded the eastern sky, although a handful of stars still glimmered just above the tops of the western peaks. Scrubbing the dregs of sleep from his eyes, Edric checked on his patients. They all fared well, or as well as could be expected, given the nature of trail medicine and the coldness of the night. At least, they need not contend with the sickness of the mountain altitudes. The supply of downed, dry wood was plentiful here, so a hot breakfast with plenty of jaco awaited him when he finished.
“Should we not make haste after the outlaws?” he asked Francisco.
“Sit down, lad,” the captain replied, just as Dom Ruyven joined them. When the three men and Alayna—for she clung to Dom Ruyven—had settled, Francisco said, “We face a difficult decision, and it is not mine to make. I can only advise. This is our situation: we are too small a party to divide up, not in these parts. We must be able to care for our wounded and to defend ourselves against another attack, whether by men or wild animals. Banshees, wolves, perhaps even catmen, if they have ventured this far.”
Alayna turned even more white, as if carved from alabaster. She did not respond when Dom Ruyven patted her shoulder.
“Yes,” Francisco said. “I see you understand the risks, damisela. Even with an intact party, we might be hard-pressed to protect you. With a divided force . . .” He spread his hands out to indicate the futility of such a prospect.
“Therefore,” he went on, “whatever we determine as our course of action, it must be a united one. We can either all go on to—” He hesitated, glancing at Dom Ruyven, who shook his head minutely, warning him to keep silent on where they were headed. “We can go on to our destination, presuming the ransom demand will be sent there, or we can all go in search of Damisela Kyria. But we cannot do both.”
Edric sat back on his heels. Not even try to rescue Kyria? Depend on the bandits to send word to her family? Zandru’s hells, what are they thinking?
Alayna sat through the discussion, her face white and her eyes glazed, as if she had no more tears to shed. “My sister . . . we cannot leave her in the hands of those—those ruffians.”
“And we will not, little lady,” Dom Ruyven said. “But we cannot help her by rushing about blindly. That would risk provoking her captors into a rash action, perhaps even retaliation against the damisela herself. Her best chance is to be exchanged for a ransom in the proper way. That is how things are done in the world. Trust me, things will not appear so terrible once you are safe amid the comforts proper to a lady of your station. And in a short time, your sister will be restored to you. All of this will seem as a bad dream, nothing more.”
While Dom Ruyven was talking, Edric could not bear to look at him. Francisco might command the other men, but he took his orders from Dom Ruyven. And Dom Ruyven was clearly determined to await a ransom demand from the comfort of his master’s castle.
But he has no authority over me.
Edric met Francisco’s gaze and realized they were thinking the same thing: a single man might penetrate such a fortress, undetected. Francisco nodded, almost imperceptibly. He would not defy his master’s agent, but that did not mean he approved of Dom Ruyven’s decision.
Francisco, in the lead, pointed out to Edric where the tracks had led last night. Although no tracker, Edric could follow the smaller trail leading north, up into a region of jagged hillsides, the perfect setting for a nest of outlaws.
Dom Ruyven, who was behind them, called out, “What are we stopping for?”
“Just taking my bearings, my lord,” Francisco said over his shoulder. He clucked to his horse and moved off.
They went slowly, for the horses were still fatigued from the long, hard climb the day before. The trail dipped, less steeply now, winding as it followed the contour of the mountainside. The land here was still rugged, but from time to time, glimpses revealed hills covered with forest and meadows that marked the sites of fires from years ago. The trail widened, but did not branch. Edric began to worry that they would have gone too far before he found a credible excuse for leaving the company. He was relieved when Francisco called a halt in a little open space, a crossroads of sorts. To each side, patches of hardy grasses grew between clumps of low, wind-twisted brush. Two smaller paths diverged from the main road, but neither showed any sign of recent traffic.
“We’ll rest here and let the horses forage.” After dismounting, Francisco set about loosening his girth and slipping off the bridle so his horse could graze.
Edric, having seen to Star’s comfort, walked over to where Alayna had spread her cloak on a flat stone. Francisco had set up a rotation of sentry duty, taking one of the first positions himself, and Dom Ruyven was nowhere to be seen, presumably attending to private matters behind one of the taller bushes.
“How fare you, damisela?” Edric asked.
“In body, much better now that we are over the pass,” she answered. “In mind . . . there is no help for it, is there? I cannot rescue my sister, although she certainly would come after me, were our positions reversed.”
“Indeed, I believe she would.”
“Will you sit beside me?” Alayna said after a moment. She sounded forlorn, in need of comfort. “The sun is very pleasant, although tonight is likely to be just as cold as before.”
Edric could not restrain himself from smiling. “I hardly think your guardian would approve.” Therefore, he sat down next to her.
“He is not—well, not in any legal sense. He’s only our escort, or rather Kyria’s. Before Kyria was taken, he’d hardly said two words at a time to me. I’m just along for company. My sister and I have never been separated, you know. Or you would know, if you were a girl and had a sister.”
“As you can see, I am not, and I have neither sisters nor brothers. She must love you very much.”
“Aye.” Tears glittered on Alayna’s long lashes. She lowered her voice and spoke rapidly, the words tumbling over one another. “Evanda grant that Dom Ruyven is right about the bandits wanting a ransom, but what if he is wrong? I will endure the waiting, of course. I have no choice. But if I knew someone was searching for her—you owe us nothing, but please, by everything you love—I beg of you—help her—”
Before Edric could promise her that he meant to do so, Dom Ruyven hurried up to them. Under other circumstances, it would have been unseemly for an unmarried man to sit so close to a young woman not his kin, but the journey and the dangers they had survived created a sense of fellowship. Alayna had no need of cosseting from a pompous lording. S
he needed a friend. She needed to know that someone was going to rescue her beloved sister.
Edric rose and offered Alayna a courtly bow. “And so, vai damisela, I take my leave of you. And of you as well, vai dom. Here our ways must part. You continue on to your destination, and I to mine. Lady Alayna, I wish you a speedy reunion with your sister. You are in Dom Ruyven’s care now. I will bid farewell to Captain Francisco and be on my way.”
As he turned away, Edric heard Alayna’s sweet, light voice calling after him, “Adelandeyo!”
Go with the gods!
8
Edric followed one of the smaller trails, which ran straight for a short distance then curved between jagged outcroppings. Rock formations created coves where patches of grass and low-growing, broad-leafed plants flourished. He slipped off Star’s bridle, loosened the girths, hobbled both the mare and his pack horse, and let them forage.
Dom Ruyven had been confident of Kyria’s safety, sure that the bandits who had taken her would contact her people—her promised husband, Edric reminded himself—and return her, unharmed. Edric understood that such transactions took place, but he also knew that the successful conclusion of the bargain was by no means assured. A dozen—a dozen dozen—things could go wrong. Messages could go awry, horses lamed or riders lost in the mountains, the ransom could be more than Kyria’s promised husband was willing to pay . . . or Dom Ruyven might be mistaken to begin with. The bandits might have some other use for Kyria.
No, do not think of that. Think only of her safe . . . untouched.
Hurry! Hurry!
Let me not be too late.
He was going to drive himself mad at this rate.
Kyria would not languish in captivity during drawn-out, uncertain demands and negotiations. He would rescue her first.
Edric reckoned that enough time had elapsed so the rest of the party had gone on. Pausing now and again to listen in case his estimate of the time had been wrong, he retraced his path to the encampment. Not only was it empty, but the ashes of the breakfast fire were cold and scattered. He headed back up the trail at a brisker pace, to where Francisco had indicated he’d tracked the outlaws.
In the dirt, Edric easily made out the prints left by several horses. He was not a skilled enough tracker to tell how many but knew there were more than one. He searched the ground and the wind-twisted brush to either side, hoping to find a sign that Kyria had passed this way, that she had been awake and able to drop a button or catch her skirt on a branch and leave threads entangled there, but there was nothing. Such things happened only in ballads, he supposed. But she had come this way. He had only to discover where she was taken.
The surrounding terrain grew rougher, but the trail led on and on, still wide enough to easily accommodate a laden horse, still smooth enough for rapid passage. The men of Sain Erach evidently came this way often enough to keep the way open. The trail descended into a gully cut by a swiftly flowing stream.
Edric halted and let the horses drink while he filled his water skins. The water was icy cold and had the slightly metallic taste of melted snow that has passed over rock. It didn’t look deep, and if the bandits used this ford, so could he. Star went forward willingly enough, but the pack horse, snorting and rolling his eyes, took a sudden dislike to getting his feet wet. In the end, rather than forcing the poor beast and risking a broken leg from a panic-driven misstep, Edric got down and led both horses across.
The midday sun was bright enough, but a tension in the air, in the sky, made Edric uneasy. He did not sense a storm gathering. Not yet. The air currents could easily disperse. And if they did not, he would do what everyone else—everyone ordinary—did: he would wait out the storm. Suddenly aware that he was clenching his teeth, Edric forced himself to relax. By his promise to himself, by the oath he had sworn to his mother and on his father’s grave, he had made himself one of those ordinary people. Yes, he could sense an oncoming storm, even one as tentative and unformed as this one, and yes, he knew he had the power to control it—divert it, gather it, use it. But he would never use that power, so it might as well not exist.
The trail passed near a stand of scrubby trees, climbed for a short stretch, and reached a crest. From there, Edric looked down on a shallow, rock-strewn valley that rose sharply on the far side to a promontory. The trail crossed the valley where it intersected another, broader track, almost a proper road. Edric made out what looked like a ruined fortress near the top. Smoke rose from an unseen source. A chimney?
Retreating to the trees, he let the horses graze and sat down to contemplate a strategy. Sain Erach was well-situated, where any lookout with half a brain could spot a rider crossing the valley. There might be another, less exposed approach from the other side, but it would take him the rest of the day to circle the promontory, with no assurance of success. After surveying the route again, Edric decided that his best chance was to wait for dusk.
Now that he was alone, there was no need for secrecy regarding his laran. Edric removed his starstone from its pouch. The gem, already warm from being carried close to his body, immediately brightened on contact with his skin. The pale blue color intensified, and twists of light glimmered in its interior. The stone possessed no intrinsic psychic power, only the quality of enhancing what was already in his mind. The moment he first held it, his mind had keyed into the crystalline structure. The stone had become a mirror to his talent, such a part of himself that he could not imagine himself without it.
Now he cradled his stone, focusing his thoughts on it, through it . . . He closed his eyes and reached out with his enhanced psychic senses. One aspect of the Gift of storm sense was an exceptional sensitivity to electrical tension in air and in other elements as well. Human minds generated faint currents, which made controlling storms risky, for flesh was not made to channel the immense power of lightning.
Edric pictured the bowl of the valley and the rising promontory beyond it, searching for flickers of energy. There were many, for animals seemed to give off the same bright sparks, but these were tiny pinpoints, not the larger, more complex patterns of humans. At last he withdrew, satisfied that there was no traffic on the road or sentries patrolling beyond the fortress walls.
But if he could sweep the valley with his mind, how much farther might he reach? The fortress itself? Kyria had laran, he was sure of it. She might be untrained, and he dared not hope she could answer him, but he might ascertain that she was alive . . . and what she was feeling.
Once more, Edric focused on his starstone. This time, instead of imagining the valley, he shaped his mental probe like a spear aimed at the top of the promontory. For a long moment, he felt nothing. He might as well be trying to contact a star on the other side of the galaxy. Then he felt—heard—something, low and monotone, rough-textured but straight—stone. Shaped stones.
From time to time, Edric had taken his place in matrix circles tasked with mining metals and other minerals. He knew how to penetrate layers of rock for what lay beneath, although he had always been part of a team, minds joined through the skill of their Keeper, bodies safeguarded by their monitor. His mind had passed through rock as if it were water, moving between the tiny particles.
Gently, gently now, he cautioned himself.
The next instant, he was through. Instead of the density and mineral taste of stone, he touched the diffuse lightness of air, punctuated by the tangled nets of brightness that marked living people. Were it not for the distance and his own imperfect skill, he might have been able to determine their numbers and locations within the fortress.
Elation blurred his senses for a moment before he wrestled his emotions back under control. Pride, stupid pride had all but destroyed not only his own Aldaran but Scathfell as well, only a generation ago. He must never forget that.
Once more calm, he shifted ever so slightly, shaping a mental call: Kyria!
At first, there was no answer, only the near-emp
tiness of air, the anonymous knots of brightness. And then he felt a glimmer of something more, the imprint of her personality like a spill of candlelight in a moonless night. He’d sensed her laran before, uncertain and untrained. This contact resembled gazing into a distant, oblique mirror of his own mind, yet she was distinctly feminine, strong-willed, and clinging to both strength and will to fend off the terror that coiled tighter and tighter around her.
I’m here! You’re not alone!
He waited, listening, turned himself into nothing but listening, but he detected no change except a deepening of the fear.
I’m coming, he wanted to tell her, but she could not hear him, or if she sensed his mental sending, she might well interpret it as her own wish for deliverance.
Still, she was there, she was alive, and she had not yet abandoned hope. He prayed to whichever god might be listening that she would be able to think clearly and act decisively once he’d made his way to her.
Edric woke as the eastern horizon was darkening, although brightness still colored the west. He came alert as he had been taught, smoothly and with no hint of disorientation. The horses had been drowsing as well; the pack animal snorted and rolled his eyes as Edric got to his feet. He’d already decided to leave the dun here, ready to go in a moment but tied loosely, so that if things went wrong and he did not return, the animal could pull free. Star braced herself as he tightened the girth, then exhaled with what he assumed was a resigned expression.
“Sorry the rest wasn’t longer, or the grass deeper,” he murmured as he swung into the saddle.
With eyes and laran senses alert, he left the grove and began the descent. All the while, he watched the fortress for signs of life. He arrived at the bottom of the slope and still saw neither movement nor lights. The trail swung north, where it intersected the broader road. By now, light was fading from the western horizon. To the east, the sweep of the galactic arm glittered. Again, he glanced up at the fortress, and this time, because he saw it from a different angle, he caught the flare of orange-tinted light. It seemed to come from the lowest level, although he saw square patches of dimmer light above.
Thunderlord Page 8
