The dancemaster was good; he saw what was happening and moved Rialla away from the others: too much contention would disturb the training. She smiled grimly and concentrated on her dancing.
At break Tamas was waiting for her. He grabbed her arm with bruising force as she wiped her forehead with a rough piece of cotton towel. Rialla stiffened in surprise, not at Tamas, but at the snarl she felt from Tris; she hadn't noticed how near he was. Turning her head slightly, she saw him sitting in the shade near the keep, rubbing oil onto a smooth piece of wood.
To regain her attention, Tamas shook her lightly. "It seems you caught the young master's attention. He wants you to come with me."
She looked at him for a second in blank horror before she dropped her eyes, letting him drag her across the bailey and into the darkness of the keep.
Rialla trailed Tamas meekly enough through the twists and turns of the halls and up two flights of stairs into the more private area of the keep. When they reached a place that was quiet enough for her purposes, she struck.
Her elbow hit Tamas hard in the center of his chest. While he struggled for breath, she pushed his head violently into the wall.
"Nice," commented Tris from just behind her. He made no move to help as she lowered Tamas carefully to the floor.
"Did you find out where the study is?" Rialla asked from her position on the ground.
"Yes," Tris nodded, "one of the servants told me. Though I thought that we'd be looking for it in the dead of night. Traveling through the keep unseen in the middle of the day is going to be difficult."
Rialla turned her attention to the unconscious servant and reached reluctantly to touch his face with her hands, wishing that physical contact didn't make mental touch so much easier.
The initial contact with his surface mind wasn't too bad, but when she probed more deeply, she felt as if she were being immersed in filth. Carefully, she ensured that he would sleep for a while longer, and then backed out of his mind. She was sweating when she stood up and tugged him into the shadows underneath the nearby stairs. She shook with the effort that it had taken to keep herself in contact with Tamas's distorted frame of reference. Tris's warm hands on her shoulders brought a measure of peace with them.
"Some people are harder to contact than others," commented Rialla hoarsely, wiping perspiration off the back of her neck with the cloth that she'd been using before Tamas took her into the keep. "I hope I never have to do that with him again."
"You won't if we make it out of here," said Tris. "Follow me, keep alert and let me know if we are going to run into anyone."
They walked quietly down the corridor until they reached another, smaller stairway that circled up to an oaken door. From the shape of the walls, Rialla assumed that this was one of the two towers in the keep.
Carved into the door, the stylized cat of Altis eyed them austerely from above. Tris pointed upward, indicating the door. Rialla probed hastily for anything that hinted the room was occupied.
Tris waited until Rialla nodded before he started up the stairway. The door opened inward without a sound. There was a ostentatious gold key on the inside of the door. Rialla turned it, locking them in Winterseine's study.
The heavy drapes blocked most of the light, and as Rialla turned to her right she bumped into a narrow book-case with her shoulder. It was nearly as tall as Rialla was, and apparently filled with books. It should have been heavy enough that a horse could have bumped into it without knocking it over.
Rialla looked with stunned disbelief as it tipped and started to fall. Tris grabbed at it, and managed to steady it.
"I thought that you were supposed to be graceful," he quipped as she joined him straightening the books that had been disarranged.
"Graceful, yes," she agreed, "but dancers don't need to see in the dark."
As she spoke, Rialla picked a book off the floor where it had fallen from an upper shelf. It was finely bound in leather, with a brass clasp to keep it closed, nothing to distinguish it from any other book—except that it rattled.
"Tris, could you light this room?" asked Rialla, working the clasp.
Light flared, then steadied. She opened the book to reveal that a section in the center had been cut out. In the resultant space was a plain silver ring, its only ornamentation a small blue stone, dislodged from the cloth it had been wrapped in. The ring's stone was polished smooth, and the indigo depths glittered oddly in the magelight. Rialla shivered with the uneasy sensation that the ring was examining them as much as they were inspecting it.
"There's magic in that," said Tris softly. "Old magic." He shut the ring in the book without touching it and slipped the tome back into place on the shelf.
He took down the one next to it and opened it. It was hollow as well, but empty. The dagger, with its distinctive handle, was in the third book. The serpent's ruby eyes twinkled at them for a moment. Tris took it and tucked it into the leather apron that was standard garb for a wood-craftsman.
He put the book that had held the dagger back on its shelf. Hastily they continued to straighten the books, until the bookcase looked as neat as the others in the room.
Rialla shook her head. "Do you know how much those books were worth before he ruined them?"
Tris snorted. "They were never books—there's no sign of ink on the paper. I suspect that he had them bound with blank pages then hollowed them out."
"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Rialla, getting to her feet and looking around the room.
The rug she stood on was only slightly less valuable than that one in Terran's chambers. Tris's light clearly revealed the rich reds and golds of the elaborately woven patterns. The room was small, but it contained two more bookcases and a large desk.
"Over here," said Tris, moving to the desk.
He ignored the ledgers that covered the desktop, and ran his hands over the locked drawers, stopping at the bottom one on the left side.
"There's something powerful in this one," he commented. He slipped a ring of keys out of his belt pouch and inserted a likely one into the lock.
"Are those clan keys? Where did you get those?" asked Rialla.
"I believe so; they were left as payment," answered Tris.
The lock turned over, and he pulled the drawer open. Inside was a thick book with a silver clasp. Embossed on the expensive white leather was a symbol that Rialla knew well.
Tris glanced at her and then back at the book. "That's the design he used for your tattoo."
"It's Winterseine's," agreed Rialla. "But is this a grimoire?'
"I'm not going to open it. From the feel of it, that book has enough magic in it to destroy this keep and half the surrounding countryside," replied Tris briskly.
"It's magic and it has Winterseine's personal seal," said Rialla. "That's enough for me."
Tris took the book out, shut the drawer and locked it. He undid his belt and slipped the book under the loose tunic, shifting it until it sat in the hollow under his ribs. Once he had it placed to his satisfaction, he cinched the belt tightly around his waist. Under the heavy woodcrafts-man fabric, Rialla could hardly tell that the book was there.
"Can you tell if there is anyone nearby?"
Rialla relaxed for a moment and concentrated. "No one, as long as Terran isn't there."
"What do you mean?" Tris raised an eyebrow.
"Terran could be listening from the other side of the door and I'd never know. For some reason my empathy can't detect him at all. However," she added, "I suppose that we can chance it."
They made it down the circular stairway without incident. As they approached one of the stairs that would take them farther down, Rialla stopped Tris with a tug on the back of his tunic.
They've found Tamas, she told him, and instituted a search. They'll block the stairways and search the lower levels first before they start up here. Rialla felt a cold knot of dread form in her stomach. She wanted out.
Then we need to find a window up here, said Tris.
&n
bsp; You're enjoying this! accused Rialla hotly.
He grinned unrepentantly at her and started back up the hall, leaving Rialla to scurry indignantly after him.
The first door that Tris tried opened into a guest bedroom, complete with window casements. Winterseine hadn't bothered with the expense of glazing them in, so when they folded the casement doors back, there were only two barriers to their escape from the keep: guards and gravity.
Rialla looked around cautiously, but no one was watching the back side of the keep. There was a good reason for this. The only windows on this side were on the third floor. Anyone stupid enough to jump out of one of them and onto the hardpacked dirt of the courtyard below would wait for the searchers.
Rialla peered cautiously down the ivy-covered walls. I don't know, Tris. It looks like a long way to the ground.
Don't fret, advised Tris, reaching out to touch a strand of ivy.
Rialla watched closely, but she couldn't see any difference in the plant after he touched it.
I want you to follow me. This will only support our weight if we climb straight down. Without giving her a chance to protest, he climbed out the window, twisting to get his shoulders through the narrow opening.
Looking at the fragile strands, Rialla felt some trepidation—but anything capable of holding Tris was more than capable of holding her. She waited until he was well on his way before starting after him.
The ivy felt unnaturally stiff, providing easy handholds.
The edges of the leaves were sharp, as if they had been fabricated out of metal, and she gained a few cuts before she discovered how to reach through the leaves to the vine beneath. When she neared the ground, Tris caught her by the waist and set her aside. He touched the ivy again, returning the plants to their original state.
Rialla turned to look around nervously, but there was still no one observing this corner of the keep. She dropped the protection from her empathy to catch any hint that someone saw them, and hoped fervently that Tamas was far enough away that she wouldn't have any more contact with him.
Here now, said Tris, let me change your hair color to something less distinctive. The gatekeepers are going to be looking for a lone slave with red hair. With the number of slaves around here, they are not going to be suspicious of one walking out with a freeman.
Winterseine has been known to reward fine work with an older, less valuable slave, agreed Rialla. If you can add some gray to the brown it will look better.
He touched her hair for a moment then took his hands away. Done.
Without further ado, they strode casually around the keep and toward the gate in the surrounding wall. Tris stopped where he had been working on the door and picked up the heavy tool bag that rested nearby. No one challenged them until they reached the portcullis.
"Hold," called the older of the two men on the wall. "What's your purpose?"
"I'm Jord Woodcraftsman; the hold stores are low on cherry. This slave knows where there are some cherry trees big enough for making furniture after they are seasoned."
The guard frowned down at Rialla. "I don't recognize that one."
Tris nodded. "She's a kitchen slave. She's been sent out after wood for the fires—so she should know the trees nearby. If she doesn't, I daresay I can find them without her and she'll still serve my purposes." He said the last with a leer.
The other men laughed and pulled the portcullis up high enough that Tris and Rialla could duck under it. Rialla led the way down an obviously well-worn trail into the woods.
Chapter Nine
As soon as they entered the shelter of the woods, Tris dropped the heavy leather satchel to the ground and began to sort through its contents with brisk efficiency, setting most of the tools aside.
"Do you have the journal?" asked Rialla hopefully.
"In the bag," he answered, loosening his belt and removing the book.
He took off the leather apron and set the dagger in the bag with the two books.
"Hold a moment." Rialla tore a strip off the bottom of her tunic and retrieved the dagger. She wrapped the blade in the cloth, leaving no edge showing, and replaced it.
Tris quickly gathered the discarded tools together and wrapped the apron around them to protect them from the weather. Someone would find them and put them to good use.
Throwing the satchel's strap around one shoulder, Tris diverged from the trail at a steady lope. Rialla followed, grateful for the long hours of work that would lend her stamina for the run ahead.
Tris ran effortlessly, obviously slowing his pace for her. The path he chose seemed random, but she was content to follow his lead. He gauged her endurance nicely; when her bad leg started to hurt, he slowed to a walk.
"Can you tell if there is anyone following us?"
"Let me stop a bit and I'll see," replied Rialla, coming to a halt.
Breathing deeply, she wiped a trail of sweat off her forehead. Starting with the area nearest to them, she felt carefully outward. It was difficult to tell animal emotions from human, so she looked for a group of creatures; but she couldn't sense anything.
"Nothing," she said, hoping that it were true.
Tris stretched out a hand and caressed the bark of a nearby tree before starting off again at a brisk walk in the direction he'd been taking. "It feels good to be out of that cursed place. It is irksome to be surrounded by nothing but dead stone."
Rialla spoke hesitantly, casual conversation seeming odd after the past few days. "I know what you mean. I grew up traveling from place to place. We only slept in tents when it was raining. Sometimes being hemmed in by stone walls is enough to make me want to scream."
"Why do you live in the city then?" he asked.
"Because Sianim was the first place I found where a woman can work training horses."
"Why didn't you go back to the Trader clans after you got away?"
Rialla shrugged. "There was no one left of my clan. One of the others would have adopted me, I suppose, but… I wouldn't have fit in." In truth, she thought, she felt closer to Tris after less than three se'ennights than she did to anyone, including Laeth. Perhaps it was the mental bond: her eyes trailed over to her companion's broad shoulders and she smiled to herself—perhaps it was something else.
"Tris?" asked Rialla.
"Hmm?"
"Where are we going?"
Something caught his attention near a thick growth of cattails along the stream they had been following. He stopped and knelt to gently brush the soil away from the roots of a slender plant with a small white bloom.
"Whitecowl," he explained absently, uprooting the plant and shaking loose the clinging dirt. "Makes a potent sleeping draft. A few of these leaves will make a man sleep for several hours."
He pulled the satchel forward, tucking the plant carefully on top of the books.
He started on again and said, "Sianim."
By that time Rialla had almost forgotten what she'd asked, and it took her a second to realize what he'd said. "How do you know where Sianim is? Have you been there before?"
He shook his head and said, "No, but I can tell where the forest is cut by a great road. According to the cook, the only major road nearby leads east to Sianim or south into the Alliance. The road is about two and a half days' journey from here. I thought we could lose any pursuit in the woods before we get there." He flashed his teeth at her. "There are a number of advantages that we sylvans have over you humans."
Rialla bared her teeth in return. "Better to be human than to travel through the forest socializing with the local flora."
He shook his head in mock dismay and said in sad tones, "Always, they disparage what they have never done. Cavorting in the bushes can be an interesting experience with the right person." He leered suggestively at her, but ruined the effect when he caught sight of another plant. "Coralis!" he exclaimed. "I've never heard of one growing this far north."
Rialla had just started to feel uncomfortable with the gentle flirting they'd been doing when th
e plant distracted Tris from the conversation. She grinned as he bent to inspect the bark of a small tree with remarkably large blood-red flowers. It was not flattering to be ignored for a plant.
Sorry, he apologized, looking up.
Startled, Rialla met his gaze. "Can you read my mind all the time?" she asked. Abruptly she felt some sympathy with Laeth; it was an unsettling feeling to realize her thoughts weren't private.
He shook his head as he straightened. "No. Only here and there, and then usually just superficial thoughts."
She smiled at him as they took to the trail again. "I'm not used to having anyone read me the way I read everyone else."
He returned her smile and started to say something, but then was distracted by another plant.
They traveled rapidly, in spite of frequent pauses while Tris examined the surrounding flora—which coincidentally allowed Rialla to rest. Mountains lay to the south and west of them, but their route wove through the foothills. After several miles passed without sign of pursuit, Rialla relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of being out of Winterseine's keep. Tris managed to gather quite a few edible plants, and they nibbled as they walked.
Night fell, and they made camp in a small clearing. Rialla found a small area with relatively few rocks and cushioned her head on her arms, while Tris did the same nearby.
The air was summer-warm, but Rialla's slave tunic did little to protect her from the night breeze. After the past few days, however, fatigue more than outweighed the discomfort. She was too tired to do more than shiver once or twice before she fell asleep.
Tris watched as she tossed and turned, but when she drew up her legs in a vain attempt to conserve her warmth he'd had enough. He shifted until he was lying next to her, and reached out to pull her closer.
Before he could do more than touch her shoulder, he felt… Terran's fine-boned hands on naked skin… distaste so strong it amounted to horror… humiliation… hatred, and a touch of terror…
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