Peri stifled an impatient sigh, trying to remember the quantities of food she’d seen in the supply wagon. It had seemed like a lot. No. Wait a minute. There’s no grazing or clean water out here. A lot of that had to be water and feed for the horses. They can’t have planned for a very long trip, then. Not with only the one supply wagon. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Of course, a city’s a whole new set of problems. As far as I know, we don’t have any money at all, but that doesn’t matter, because one look at my skin and features, not to mention my clothes, would mark me as a Bregond, and I’m sure my Sarkondish is as accented as Atheris’s Bregondish. Well, if I get killed in the first Sarkondish city we come to, at least I won’t have to worry about those Bone Hunters.
She closed her eyes, clenching her teeth.
I’ve been away one whole night now. Uncle Terralt will have all the guards searching for me—the guards at the garrison, too. And most of those guards are Bregondish, they’ll be starting to wonder... Grimly Peri forced that thought away.
Right now her most pressing problem was Atheris’s wounds, but there was nothing she could do about them with the wagon jolting so. Fortunately Sarkondish merchants liked their comfort as much as did their Bregondish and Agrondish counterparts, and the caravan stopped at noon for a hot dinner, and Peri took advantage of the daylight and stationary surface. By the time she’d picked splinters and fibers out of the wound in Atheris’s side, cleaned it thoroughly with the brandy, and made a dressing with the herbs and bandages she’d stolen, she had gained a growing, if grudging, respect for the Sarkond. Although Peri knew she had to have caused him severe pain, he had held quite still and remained absolutely silent throughout her treatment, although he’d gone almost white and he’d clenched his hands so hard that he’d set the cut on his hand bleeding again. Peri cleaned the cut, decided it did not require stitching, and applied a clean dressing, then tended the cut on her own arm; then there was nothing to do but rest, eat and drink their stolen supplies, and wait.
They waited. Dinner ended and the jolting journey began again. Atheris drowsed, tired by sustaining his spell and by the pain he’d endured, but Peri fidgeted restlessly in her cramped position and thought thoughts that darkened her mood more than the hard floorboards of the wagon, the splintery sides of the box against which she leaned, the lingering ache of her bruised ribs, or the uncomfortable fullness of her bladder.
Mahdha grant that Tajin got past the Bone Hunters and that someone finds him quickly. Oh, Bright Ones, very, very quickly...
Uncle Terralt would have had guards out searching for Peri since soon after sunset the night before. They’d have ridden on to the garrison. Not all the guards were Bregonds, so perhaps the search would have been called off until morning; it was hard enough to locate someone on Bregond’s plains, nearly impossible at night, and an unskilled searcher, or one who just didn’t know the land, could easily become lost. But sooner or later the guards would have found the dead mare, the signs, the Sarkondish camp.
Not the Sarkonds themselves. Obviously the Bone Hunters had evaded detection despite their sleeping mounts, or Atheris would not be sensing them now. Perhaps they had mounts again, perhaps they were on foot; somehow, in any event, they’d managed to make enough progress to stay within Atheris’s range, whatever that might be, despite the Mare’s Sleep, despite the spell on Tajin, despite Atheris’s magical concealment.
But meanwhile, back in Bregond, the guards would have found Tajin’s trail and that of the Bone Hunters overlaying it, and that trail led directly into Sarkond itself. Unless they found Tajin and read the message on his saddle, there would be only one conclusion they could draw.
That Peri had been captured by Sarkonds.
And that meant that in Bregond at least, Peri was dead—if not killed in battle by the Sarkonds, then, as custom required, honorably dead by her own hand. Her friends and kin would mourn her as dead. If she returned she could expect no welcome, no help, no acknowledgment whatsoever. She’d be an outcast even to Danber, and Mahdha, who whispered her secrets to the clans and carried the spirits of the honored dead on her wings, would forget her name. Even Peri’s mother, despite the years she’d lived in Agrond, would never wholeheartedly welcome her daughter home.
No, Peri simply had to hope that Tajin would make it past the Bone Hunters. Someone would find him, read the message, get word either to Aunt Kairi or Danber. Then they’d only think Peri had run from her responsibilities—disgraceful but not disastrous. Unfortunately her exploits were not quite heroic enough to get her out of trouble, but at least she’d be able to return to Bregond. Life as Kairi’s Heir, and later as High Lady, was no prospect she relished, but anything was better than total exile from the land she considered her home.
And she’d risked everything to rescue a Sarkond.
That thought piqued Peri’s curiosity, but just as she was about to wake Atheris and ask him about it, the wagon slowed, stopped. Cautiously Peri peered out under the edge of the wagon cloth and immediately saw the reason. The sun was low in the sky, almost down. The merchants were camping for the evening.
“That’s it,” she murmured.
“What?” Atheris said softly, making Peri jump. The Sarkond was awake and watching her anxiously.
“I have got,” she said between clenched teeth, “to piss. Not tomorrow, not after midnight when everybody’s gone to sleep. Right now.”
Atheris gazed at her for a moment, his lips twitching suspiciously, then picked up a nearly empty waterskin. He quickly swallowed the last of the water and mutely handed her the empty skin.
Despite her foul mood, Peri had to stifle a laugh of her own at the waterskin and the look Atheris had given her; but a laugh would have brought the guards down on them, and more importantly, would have had very negative consequences on her overfull bladder. Instead she applied her wits and her knife to the problem, widening the opening so she could use the waterskin. Thankfully Atheris turned away without her having to ask—Mahdha bless me, he’s got good manners for a Sarkond—and when she finished, she just as silently handed him the skin and turned her back. When he was done she tied the skin off tightly and set it aside. Tomorrow, when she was certain nobody would see, she’d empty it out the back of the wagon.
“How’s your side?” she whispered.
Atheris pulled up the edge of his tunic and touched the dressing, raised his eyebrow, and pressed a little harder.
“Very good indeed,” he said softly. “I wondered why you did not simply use a spell, but then I realized that a mage in the caravan might have detected it, and perhaps you were wise to conserve your energies.”
Peri grimaced.
“I didn’t use a spell,” she murmured, “because I don’t have enough healing magic for spells, just a kind of knack for knowing what’s wrong and what to do about it.”
Atheris gazed at her for a long moment; then his eyes widened.
“You sacrificed your gift,” he whispered, very slowly, “for this?” He touched her sword.
Peri irritably pulled out a strip of dried meat and chewed on it; she hated having nothing to do.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.
“Why would you forsake your magic for the sword?” Atheris persisted, looking disturbed, almost horrified.
“I didn’t forsake anything,” Peri said, annoyed. She gestured pointedly at Atheris’s empty scabbard. “Why did you?”
Atheris’s brows drew down.
“That is different,” he said with great dignity. “The temple required my sword training. But you are a woman.”
Peri rolled her eyes and shut her mouth hard before she could begin an argument that would probably lead to raised voices and subsequent discovery. She’d run into that attitude often enough in Agrond. She certainly didn’t need more of it from a Sarkond.
Anyway, I’d value his opinion slightly lower than what I just put in that waterskin, Peri thought grimly.
“More
importantly,” she whispered, “we need to talk about your next spell. What’ve you got that can tell us how far we are away from this city, this Darnalek, and whether or not your Bone Hunters are following us, and if so, how close they are?”
Atheris scowled slightly, but he paused thoughtfully before he answered.
“The city would be only an elementary scrying,” he said. “The Bone Hunters are another matter. Finding them is simple; preventing them from sensing my scrying in turn is another matter. That requires a more powerful spell.”
“So?” Peri said.
“I am already sustaining the blood spell on this wagon,” he said slowly and patiently, as if speaking to a child. “Casting the necessary scrying will weaken me greatly.”
“Well, think about this, then,” she said, just as patiently. “We have to get away from this caravan before we get into a city, or I’m dead. We’ve got to find some other place to hide, or you’re captured. That means that we’ve got to know where the city is so we have time to get away from the caravan, and we’ve got to know where the Bone Hunters are so we have time to get away from them. Or do you have a better idea?”
Atheris was silent for a long moment. At last he spoke, sounding very tired.
“I will require a bowl,” he said. “Or a cup.”
And they had none. Peri thought about the problem for a moment, then nodded.
“Can you make fire?” she asked.
“Fire?” Atheris repeated. “By magic?”
“By magic, yes,” Peri said irritably. “If I wanted somebody to hear me scraping away with flint and steel, I wouldn’t have asked you in the first place. Can you make enough fire to light a candle? Yes or no?” This was a Sarkondish mage, true, not a Fire-Dedicated like her mother, but even Loris could’ve lit a simple candle.
“Yes,” Atheris said very softly. “I can light a candle. But if I do, it will be seen.”
“Not if you stop talking about it and do it before the light goes,” Peri retorted. She had to remind herself sternly to be slow and quiet as she drew a candle out of one of the bags. “Hurry.”
Atheris said nothing, although he clearly wanted to question, if not argue, but he only focused on the wick of the candle Peri held out; a moment later the candle flared alight. Peri handed the candle to Atheris.
“All right,” she said, extending her cupped hands. “Drip the wax into my hands.”
Atheris’s eyebrows shot up, but he obeyed, tilting the candle sharply so that the wax melted rapidly. He glanced at Peri’s face as the hot wax dripped down. “I would think,” he said slowly, “that that would be quite painful.”
Peri grinned ruefully, carefully working the liquid wax with her thumbs against her palms into a bowl shape.
“Not much, actually,” she said. “I’ve been studying the sword and herding horses most of my life. I’ve even woven baskets out of swordgrass. My hands are pretty callused and tough.” She chuckled, thinking of her mother; the Fire-Dedicated High Lady, whom Peri had seen hold metal in the forge until it melted in her bare hands, would not have been impressed by a little melted beeswax.
And she and Father wouldn’t be much impressed by anything else I’ve done so far, either, Peri thought sourly as she worked the wax. And why should they be? So far all I’ve managed to do is rescue an enemy, get the both of us chased into Sarkond by magic-wielding assassins, and lose my war-horse. So much for convincing them I was meant to be a great warrior. A great idiot—now, THAT they might believe.
“Enough,” Atheris whispered, blowing out the candle. “The wax cup is deep enough, and the sun is low. Soon they would see the light from this wagon and investigate.”
Peri carefully pulled her fingers free of the hollowed-out wax cup and handed it to Atheris. When he started to unwind the bandage around his hand again, however, Peri shook her head.
“Don’t,” she said. “If you keep opening that cut, it’s going to need stitches, and the palm of your hand is the worst place to have a scar.” She grimaced. Why do I care if he cripples or scars his hand? Mahdha scour me raw, you’d think he was my clansman. Never mind—for now, at least, I need him un-maimed.
“If you have to use blood,” Peri said, forcing the words out, “can you use mine? You may need your strength for more spellcasting, and Mahdha knows I’m rested.”
Atheris hesitated thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.
“Your blood will suffice,” he said. “Your knife?”
“Right.” Peri passed it over and pushed up her sleeve, indicating the fattiest part of her forearm beside the previous cut. “There.”
That’s another priority, she thought to distract herself while Atheris made the shallow cut, letting her blood drip into the wax cup. If he has a scabbard, I assume he has at least some idea of what to do with a sword, mage or not. Whatever that horsecrap was about women and swords, two blades are better than one, even if one of them IS a Sarkond. I’ve got to find a way to steal him a dagger at least. I don’t like eating with a knife that’s been used in Sarkondish magic. And as long as I’m in Sarkond, at least, my grace-blade never leaves my boot sheath. If I were captured—Peri resolutely did not finish that thought.
When Atheris released her arm, she bound the cut quietly, watching as he chanted in a whisper over the makeshift cup. At last his chant trailed off into silence; Peri saw nothing reflected in the blood in the cup, but Atheris’s gaze became intent and the fleeting expressions passing across his face told her that the spell had at least revealed something of interest.
At last he closed his eyes, apparently breaking the spell, raised the wax cup, and to Peri’s amazement, swallowed the small quantity of her blood in the cup. Atheris shivered as he swallowed, and Peri shivered, too, grimacing. She’d tasted the blood of her kills often enough, sharing the heart or liver on a successful hunt, but this was different. This was human blood, her blood.
“Why in the world,” she whispered squeamishly, “did you do that?”
Atheris glanced at her curiously, as if the answer were self-evident.
“Your blood contains the emanation of your magic,” he whispered back, “and further was imbued with some of my own magic as well. What would you have had me do, waste its power and pour it on the ground for the Bone Hunters to track us by?”
Peri didn’t grace that with an answer, but she privately resolved to empty her urine out the back of the wagon at the first possible opportunity, before she learned about any more bizarre Sarkondish customs!
To her surprise, however, she found herself weary, almost exhausted. She checked the cut on her arm, only slightly reassured to find it already closed, then sat back against the crates, closing her eyes, already drowsing. Certainly Atheris hadn’t drawn enough blood to leave her this worn-out. This must be the magical draining effect he had mentioned. If that was so, no wonder he’d slept all day!
“So what did you see?” Peri murmured, forcing her eyes open. “Bad news first; I’m not sure I can stay awake for the lot.”
“The Bone Hunters are definitely closer,” Atheris said softly. “There are three who crossed into Sarkond, and they are far west of the point where they crossed. Whether they are tracking us somehow, whether they are merely paralleling the Veil by arrangement with their brethren on the other side, or whether they are following the trade road, deducing that we might take that path, I do not know. They are mounted—not the horses they rode before, so they have stolen or claimed others. They ride slowly but with purpose, not deviating from their path to search, so I must assume they have some idea of our course. And they move, of course, far more rapidly than this caravan.”
“Oh, Bright Ones,” Peri groaned, abruptly remembering their situation and quickly lowering her voice. “Is there any more bad news?”
“No,” Atheris said softly. “The rest should reassure you. The other Bone Hunters have not crossed the Veil, which indicates they are not positive we are still in Sarkond. That remains to our advantage.
“Judgi
ng the distance we have made from the Veil in one day,” he continued, “we will reach Darnalek in two days, perhaps three. But we will wish to leave the caravan tomorrow.”
“Oh, really?” Peri said, forcing herself to sit up straight. She shook her head as cobwebs threatened to smother her brain. “Why? And have you figured out how yet?”
“The ‘why’ will answer a part of the ‘how,’” Atheris told her. “I have found for us a far better hiding place than this, and one which will quickly conceal us when we depart this wagon. There is a large pilgrimage of worshipers journeying to the great temple at Rocarran. The road the pilgrims are following joins with this one very soon, and the caravan will undoubtedly overtake the pilgrimage tomorrow in late afternoon. There are enough people on the road that the caravan will be forced to follow behind the pilgrimage until the worshipers take another fork in the road some miles beyond. Therefore it is almost certain that the caravan will camp near the pilgrims tomorrow night. We should be able to leave the wagons and easily hide ourselves among the worshipers, many of whom are sick or diseased. A robe and some bandages will conceal your outland features and clothing.”
“That’s fine,” Peri said irritably, “except that it still leaves us with our two biggest problems—first, that we’re going farther north when we want to be heading south instead; and second, that we won’t have any nice wagon you can cast a spell on to hide us from those Bone Hunters.”
“But that is the perfection of it,” Atheris told her, smiling. “The worshipers are accompanied by priests of the temple, powerful mages themselves. Hiding within the crowd, the presence of the priests will conceal our emanations as certainly as the spell I used, and without taxing my magical energies in the slightest. And when the Bone Hunters find no trace of us, why should they search farther north when they know that is the one direction we would never choose to go? Surely they will assume that they have passed us and turn back eastward, and then we can make our way back to Bregond safely.”
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