“Are you scared?” Quall asked as he faced the river.
“Scared?”
Quall’s pale face shifted in the moonlight. A nod.
Tyber scratched at his neck. Near his chin, five-days of growth felt stiff beneath his nails. He swept his hand across his cheek. The bristle rubbed at his chilled fingertips. None of them had shaved since leaving the city, yet Quall’s face looked no different. Tyber had the strange sense that they had somehow left the recruit behind, that Quall wasn’t really there with them.
“We can handle them,” Tyber finally said, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands in relation to his sword. “We have our training. And Ander. And Chanson. The dragons, of course.”
Quall cut toward the south, walking along the river. Tyber started after him.
“They’ve lost someone every time they made this trip in the past. Weren’t you listening to them?”
Tyber shrugged. He cupped his elbows in his palms and looked at the river again. Ripples crossed over the moon’s reflected face as if something out there moved, stirring in the dark, quiet waters.
“You heard what Chanson said, right?” Tyber asked. “The dragonjacks all moved to the west. And the gods above certainly saw what they did to Malcums’ horde, right?”
Quall looked out toward the light and noise of the encampment. It felt miles away, yet Tyber could clearly hear the chatter of the Seelians. And the light of the fires were still close enough to reach Quall’s pale cheeks.
“Who do you think will be the one?” Quall asked, then met Tyber’s eyes.
Tyber shook his head. “No one. No one is going to die. Why are you still going on about this?”
Quall’s attention drifted back to the encampment. Barely audible over the chatter of the Seelians, the leathery rustle of wings caught Tyber’s attention. A dragon shifted her position, likely stood and circled before laying back down. He pictured Rius’ blue face staring into the fire, the light dancing sharply in her great, black eyes.
“I saw the way you were with that woman,” Quall said, then looked back at him. “You saw through her, didn’t you?”
“Saw through her?” Tyber shook his head as he heard in his mind the inappropriate things Ren might say. By the scale, they spent too much time together.
“They were trying to bribe us, right?” Quall said. “With the steaks. Feeding our dragons. They wanted our favor. They wanted us to guard their cattle over the whole caravan. You saw that, didn’t you? They thought they could send some pretty girls out to us and we’d bend over backwards to please them, right?”
Tyber looked away, his gaze caught between Quall’s empty, yet pained expression, and the bustle of the Seelians. He turned his attention to Petraster the Storied, and there he found his mind touching on Imrich’s story of the shepherd boy.
“The others didn’t see it. Did you see Ren?”
Tyber took a deep breath, then shook his head. “I didn’t, actually.”
“He ate it up. He was bragging about his dragon. Him. Of all of us, he was the one bragging about himself and his dragon.”
“We should check on the dragons.” Tyber started toward the camp. His foot sank into a soft spot as Quall hooked his fingers around Tyber’s arm, holding him back.
“Tell me something,” Quall said. He pressed his thumb into Tyber’s arm.
“What? Tell you what?” Tyber asked. He tugged lightly at Quall’s grip. The ground squelched beneath his boot as he shifted his weight, but Quall would not let go.
“Anything. Something you wouldn’t normally tell someone. If you’re it, if you’re the one to die, then I want to have that. I want to be able to remember that about you. So you weren’t just a faceless recruit who died on an escort. Padrus told me they buried the others where they fell. Can you imagine that? Dying so far from home? No one to come visit your cairn. Tell me something.”
He moved closer. The ground sighed with his weight.
Tyber stepped back again. His heel sank into mud as he tugged his arm free.
“Please,” Quall said.
The wings of Master Groal spread across Tyber’s mind. The way they had muted the roar of the fire, the crackle and crash. Being enshrouded in those wings had felt frightening and safe at the same time.
“I snuck onto the roof, one time,” Tyber said.
Quall nodded. “I saw.”
“And Master Groal was there. Standing on top of the roof. At the parapet, looking out over the city. Like those stone dragons that sit on the corners.”
“I’ve seen them too. I know which ones.”
“He…” Tyber swallowed. “He never caught me. I hid behind one of the chimneys. He heard me. I slipped over the parapet and I made a noise when I hit the ground. The roof, I mean. He came looking for me, and I hid.”
Quall nodded again as if a suspicion had been confirmed.
Tyber pressed his palms against the thighs of his trousers, wiping the sweat from them. “He never found me. I don’t think he knows. And I never told anyone.”
A woman screamed. Raucous laughter and strange shouts ensued. Quall turned toward the caravan, his eyes narrowing as if assessing, watching. Suddenly Tyber felt like he stood near a predator, the wolf conjured from a foolish wish.
“Thank you,” Quall said as the laughter died out and he returned his attention to Tyber. “For that. I appreciate it.”
Tyber let out a nervous breath. He shifted his feet, a sudden surge of energy jerking through him. He felt lit, loose as he would after a daring maneuver on the back of Rius.
“You’re welcome,” Tyber said. “But it won’t matter. You won’t need it. I’m making it back to the academy. So are you. We all are.”
He turned back to the south and stepped forward carefully to find the ground firmer beyond the slight depression he had stumbled through.
“Don’t you want to hear something from me?” Quall asked behind him. “In case I don’t make it back?”
Tyber looked over his shoulder. “It’s not necessary. You’re going home. We all are. You have to believe that.”
“Still.”
A yelp and a splash rang out ahead of them.
“What was that?” Tyber asked.
“A drunken Seelian,” Quall said with a dismissive wave of his hand, but Tyber had already started toward the sound. Movement rustled the shadows amid the chest-high grass growing along the river’s edge. Out across the water, the moon’s watery face broke into a riot of shimmering as large ripples ran over it.
Water sloshed. Hushed voices chased after it. A woman laughed and made a disgusted little sigh.
A man with a slight beard looked back at Tyber, and then stood up from where he had been stooped among the river reeds.
“Fang?” Tyber asked.
Fang turned away, then led a young woman out of the grass. She was soaked from the chest down. Water glistened in the scant light of the campfires as it dripped from the hem of her skirt, which she held clutched before her with her other hand, revealing a bit of her calves above the mud that obscured her feet.
Another woman appeared out of the shadows. She spoke in Seelian. The wet woman smiled and nodded, saying something back, then looked at Tyber and Quall and bowed her face in a sheepish look.
“She fell in,” Fang said.
“I must get back,” the woman said, her voice barely audible over the singing and laughing of the caravan. “It’s too cold. I need dry clothes.”
Fang laughed and smiled in a way that Tyber had never seen from the man before. He patted her on the shoulder. “You sure do. I’m so sorry. Can I walk you back?”
She smiled and nodded. “That would be nice.”
“Excuse us,” Fang said with a nod, then started back to the encampment with a woman on either side of him. He held the hand of the wet woman.
“What in the wilds?” Tyber whispered as they went, their forms becoming silhouettes before they disappeared into the shadows hugging the perimeter of the caravan.
He looked at Quall, who stared back at him with an intensity that spoke of expectation. Waiting for something. Tyber didn’t want to know what.
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, according to Ander. I’m going to hit the roll.”
He walked away without waiting for Quall’s response.
Chapter 9
It felt like half the morning had been spent in the saddle, watching wagons and livestock lumber one-at-a-time over the stone bridge.
The sun sat midway up the sky, just beyond the height of Rius’ wing tip when she reached the pinnacle of the upstroke. At this rate, it would take half the day for the caravan to make it to the other side. Those who had already crossed kept on going, not waiting for the others.
Hewart’s large and garishly colored wagon appeared to be halfway to the horizon already. As the caravan stretched out along the road, the true size of it became more apparent. And so did the reason for Hewart’s concern that the King hadn’t sent a large enough force to escort it.
A flick of Tyber’s heel and a shift in his saddle sent Rius banking slightly to the right, out toward the river and alongside the road. Several dragons ahead, Ander waved for everyone’s attention, then signaled for his wing to hold formation until he got back. Listico spiraled toward a man who waved a red flag back and forth, signaling for help.
Tyber shifted in his saddle again. The grass stirred with the stiff breezes that swept the plain, bending in waves as if the wind were a great, invisible beast that rolled along the ground. Beyond, clouds rose in a wall to the west and north. The wind would likely get worse, and rain would follow. Hopefully, it would hold off until night and blow through as they slept.
Chanson whistled from the other side of the escort, where he and Merilyss were flying back to the rear of the caravan. He pointed at Tyber, then motioned for him to go to ground where the caravan had been encamped. There, Ander sat atop Listico next to the man who’d waved the flag.
Tyber acknowledged the order, then directed Rius to land beside Listico. A team of four horses fidgeted and pulled against their hitches, rocking a large, enclosed wagon that sat at a funny angle. The wagon’s left side dipped in the back until the sidewall pressed against the top of the wood and iron wheel.
“These people have suffered a broken axle,” Ander called from Listico. “It will take a good bit of the day to repair it, and the caravan can’t afford to wait for them. You will stay here and see to their protection until they can rejoin the caravan. Understood?”
“What do I do?” Tyber asked Ander.
The flag-bearer smiled and stood upright. The breeze kicked up and sent the flag fluttering at the end of the staff that rested against his shoulder. “You sit on dracca. Look mean,” the man said, adding a scowl likely meant to be comical, but there was nothing funny about it.
“In a nutshell,” Ander said with a nod. “Keep an eye on the perimeter. Stay out of the sky unless absolutely necessary. You don’t want to draw attention to the fact that there is a straggler back here. If you have trouble, it will likely come slinking through the grass.”
“Wolves, akacho,” the flag-bearer said, then tapped his temple. “They think second time before attack when see dracca.”
“You’re not talking about four-legged wolves, are you?” Tyber asked.
The flag-bearer barked with laughter. “Oh, no! These wolves are two legs. More dangerous. But also bold only with numbers. Bold only at injured prey.”
He gestured at the wagon. A man with a crossbow leaned against the side, regarding Tyber with dark eyes. The tip of the loaded quarrel pointed over the head of three men who were laying tools out in the crushed grass around the wagon. The mercenary didn’t seem menacing or threatening, just careless.
“Remember your training, recruit,” Ander said. “You have already been taught everything you need to know to complete this assignment. Keep your bow at hand. Stay on Rius. It’s more important that you be seen than you actually do anything. But if you come under attack, you will be expected to defend these people with your life. Is that clear?”
Tyber’s breath froze in his chest. He nodded.
“Very well,” Ander said. “I’ll see you before sunset.”
“Sooner!” the flag-bearer shouted at Ander. “Two hours! No softs or laggards in our runoot.”
Ander grinned at the man, nodding as if he agreed, then sent Listico back into the sky, climbing to take her place in the elongated loop of her hordesmates.
“Luck be you,” the flag-bearer said as he wagged a finger at Tyber. “What is it, your name? I am Fince.”
He placed his hand on his chest.
“Tyber.” He patted the dragon’s neck. “And this is Rius.”
“Tyber and Rius,” Fince said, then pointed back to the man with the crossbow. “He is Larrim. You listen. Except he speak your tongue not. Eh… I tell you what he say. You just watch. He aim the chapro, you aim your eyes. You aim that bow.”
Fince pointed to his eyes with his fore and middle fingers, then to the grass beyond.
One of the men gathered around the wheel sat back on his heels. He spoke to Fince in Seelian, then nodded to the horses. Fince responded, then carried his staff to the front of the wagon and tossed it onto the bench where the driver sat. He walked to the head of the team and grabbed the horse’s bridle as Larrim went around to the other side.
The men around the wheel braced a sturdy column of wood at a slight angle between the ground and the underside of the wagon just beyond the broken wheel.
With a shout, Fince and Larrim pulled on the bridles. The horses lunged forward, and the wagon inched ahead. The damaged corner lifted until the wooden column stood perfectly upright, and the damaged wheel slanted outward, the bottom of it barely touching the ground.
The men shouted, and Fince and Larrim stopped the horses.
“See?” Fince called to Tyber as he gestured at the column. “Not long now.”
Larrim retrieved his crossbow and walked around the wagon. One of the men drew the wheel out from under the wagon until the broken axle attached to it cleared the wagon bed.
Around him, the last of the caravan wagons continued to work their way back to the road and wait to cross the bridge.
Tyber sighed and turned his attention to the grasses beyond. The wind gusted along, rumbling in his ears and wiping away the odors of animal dung. The grass bent and rustled not more than twenty feet from them. Tyber’s back stiffened as if the plain teemed with wolves coming for them now, the wounded animal left behind.
Larrim lifted his crossbow as if to check something on it. A long, metal hook dangled from his wide belt. A pouch at his side held his quarrels.
It had taken Master Vark how many seconds to reload his crossbow? Enough that Ren could have gotten off three arrows.
Tyber leaned forward slightly and brushed his palm over the fletchings of the arrows in the quiver at Rius’ side. His other hand went to his bow, resting on the limb as it sat on the hook.
Although the three men fixing the wagon worked without pause, they made slow progress. As the sun neared its zenith, the horde began to move off. The loop of dragons overhead did not quite return to the edge of the Seelian kingdom before banking to the south, then flying a slow path back to the front of the caravan. When Fince noticed this, he said something to the others, and the speed of the work picked up.
The wagon was eventually pulled forward again, and its weight fell on the new axle as the wooden column tipped to its side.
Tyber breathed a sigh of relief and began to check his restraints.
“See?” Fince called as he approached Tyber and waved at the back corner of the wagon. “
I tell you. No time at all! Half done.”
“Half?” Tyber asked.
“Yes,” Fince said with a nod. “New rod must be placed in other wheel.”
Already, one of the men had hauled the wooden column around the back of the wagon to the other side.
Tyber’s hands fell limply to his side. He stretched his back, pushing his stiff legs against the stirrups. His hands went back to his restraints. It wouldn’t hurt to stretch his legs a bit, at least long enough to relieve himself.
He took a deep breath and watched as Larrim made another circle around the wagon, his eyes constantly scanning the grass, looking away only to check on the progress of the others or to check something on his weapon. He didn’t appear concerned. Surely Tyber could step into the grass to have a little privacy.
He untied the restraints and dropped from the saddle. As he began to move, his bladder made it known how long overdue he was.
Larrim stopped, shoulders back. His hand gripped the stock of the crossbow before him as the other moved toward the trigger.
Tyber raised a palm, smiled, and tried not to look embarrassed. He then signified his intent with a gesture that any man would understand regardless of his language.
Larrim nodded, then returned to his patrol.
Tyber hurried to the edge of the grass. He walked back through several clumps to where the grass grew thicker. The wind whistled bitterly in his ears. The grass brushed over his chest and belly in a dark, golden wave. He looked out over the expanse, the gentle roll of a hill off to the northeast. He could hardly wrap his mind around the sheer abundance of open space outside the mother city. Did all the people in the city live crowded together by choice?
He shook his head as he fumbled with his trousers. His jaw relaxed with the release of tension.
Something moved. Ahead and to the left. About thirty feet away.
Tyber stopped, his eyes wide. Oh, by the scale, why hadn’t he brought his bow with him? Stupid!
He fumbled with his trousers again, and as his left forearm brushed against the grip of his sword, he suddenly remembered he had it. He gripped the hilt, then backed up slowly, eyeing the grass, looking around for another dip and rustle that didn’t match the pattern set down by the wind.
Hordesmen: The Wisdom of Dragons #4 Page 6