He expended extra energy to give Rena a particularly satisfying lovemaking session that night, leaving her spent and exhausted. When her breathing had become rhythmic, he patiently waited another thousand breaths before moving. Then he slipped from the platform and crept out through the long, white curtains as they billowed in a midnight breeze, and into the garden.
The cool night air was refreshing on his exposed skin. He had, days before, left a satchel containing several sets of clothing in a large bush, hoping the maintenance servants would not find them; they had not. The outfits were of dark and neutral tones, which were difficult to find with the Somrian passion for bright colours. He had asked for them specifically when Rena had expressed her intent to purchase him new clothes on one of her journeys; he told her the bright colours hurt his eyes, and he preferred a rest from them when she was away. He felt a pang of guilt when he donned them. She was sleeping only paces away, and he felt a longing to return to her, and forget his duty. Of course, he could not.
The walk from the gardens to the stables was the most harrowing; though the foliage around the main house was lush and thickly placed for privacy, once beyond the gardens there was a massive, flat, open area of only low-cut grasses before the stables. There was no moon—another delay he had forced upon himself, of which he was now grateful—but the sky was almost clear, and the starlight alone seemed ample to expose him.
Nevertheless he made it to the stables, and quietly opened the side door through which he often entered to call upon Sarbsa. He made his way cautiously down through the rows of sleeping orey, though perhaps unnecessarily so; Sarbsa had mentioned that they were extremely deep sleepers, and true to his word, none woke.
The door to the stablemaster’s sleeping room was open. That was odd; Gallord-Smit had come several times in the evening when it was already dark, and the door had always already been shut, the stablemaster sleeping at dusk and waking at dawn.
Gallord-Smit slowly poked his head through the threshold and peered into the room; the unshuttered window let in enough light for him to see that the sleeping platform was empty. Where was Sarbsa?
“Mistress? I should think orey prove of use for carry more supply.” It was Sarbsa’s gruff voice. Gallord-Smit froze, and slowly drew his head back to look in the direction it came from.
“Not this time, Sarbsa,” Rena said. She was standing not five paces from him, in the centre of the stable, looking directly at him. “About time ya showed out, ma Pilaeos; ya dress slowly,” she declared. “Ya horse is almost ready.”
Gallord-Smit opened his mouth, then rapped his teeth together. “You were awake,” he said.
“Of course, ma man,” she laughed. “Ya can’t fool me.”
He pursed his lips. “I . . . thought I had. How did you—?”
She strolled over to him, pressed her palm against his cheek, and ran her other hand over his hairless scalp. “The loving,” she breathed, biting her lower lip. “Ya put so much to it, I knew it was goodbye.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I—”
“Oh ya fool man,” she said, shaking her head slowly, with a smile. “Did ya think a real woman could na know the heart of the man she love?”
“Love,” Gallord-Smit whispered, frowning.
“Ya, Pilaeos. Love,” she repeated, her hand taking his and drawing it down, to hold it with both of hers against her breast. “I’m young, but I see. Ya’ve ya duty. And ya pain, from what ya may tell me one day. But ya love me, I see that, too. So fly free, then, ma soldier. I set ya free then,” she finished, bringing his hand to her mouth and kissing his palm.
“Rena,” he whispered, anguish clenching his chest. “I’m so sorry . . . I can’t . . . I’m so sorry.” He sighed, unable to speak the words in his heart. He didn’t want to leave her.
Sarbsa came out then, drawing two horses, both saddled. Gallord-Smit looked at the horses, then back at Rena quickly. “You can’t–” he began.
“Oh yes I can,” she cut him off. “Don’t be sorry, ma Pilaeos. Don’t be sorry ya leave me, a’cause ya don’t. I set ya free ma Pilaeos, but only for one rule.”
He knew it before she said it, and it filled his heart with trepidation and joy, all at once.
“I go with ya,” she said.
22 SAYRI
She hadn’t asked how far it was to Dol Vi’s village, but he carried only a light pack and traveled on foot, so she doubted it was far. Her own traveling gear was even lighter, she having left Yalcinae with little more than the clothes on her back.
The first day of travel was brief; they hiked away from the halfway house all morning, then camped in the open (the only place they could). Dol Vi produced leftovers from the midday meal, which they ate in silence, Sayri deep in her thoughts and Dol Vi respecting her privacy, though he watched her intently until she declared herself tired and lay down to sleep. She had only a cloak and it became chilly after sundown; sleep would have been difficult if Dol Vi hadn’t produced a blanket for her. He didn’t seem to need one. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if he slept at all, as he was awake when she slept and up when she woke. It took Sayri ages to fall asleep, but when she did, it was dreamless; for that, she was thankful.
The second day was endless and depressing. The weather was bleak, with dark, rolling clouds threatening rain that never fell, blanketing the sky from horizon to distant horizon. The only variation in the desolate, monotonous landscape was a distant line of mountains—Sayri had finally deduced they had to be mountains because they hadn’t changed in size at all, though she’d been moving west for many days now.
Dol Vi didn’t speak unless she asked him a question, and even then was brief and to the point. He seemed distracted, even irritated for some reason, but she found him enigmatic and impossible to read.
Her guide also never waited for her, or asked if she needed rest. He marched continuously west, perhaps a bit north, only looking back to make certain she was still with him if she fell a distance behind. In those cases, which were not uncommon due to his quick, effortless stride, he stopped and watched her until she caught up to him, then told her simply, “Keep up,” and marched off again.
He had presented himself as a kind and thoughtful man, back at the halfway house, but now he had changed into a sort of dictator. She briefly regretted having accepted his offer, then reminded herself that there had been no other choice. At least he had protected her and shown proper respect for her modesty. Plus, he had given her a blanket. She could tolerate gruffness, if that was all he troubled her with.
She was utterly exhausted when he finally stopped. They had walked from sunrise to sunset, and though Dol Vi showed no signs of fatigue, her feet were aching horribly. She collapsed more than sat on the soft loamy dirt of the washout where they stopped, her eyes already heavy.
Dol Vi produced food again, this time dried meats and fruits. When she shook her head—her stomach rumbling, but too tired to eat—he surprised her yet again by insisting she eat, then pulling off her boots without asking, and rubbing her feet.
I don’t understand this man, she puzzled, as he focused intently on the task, ignoring her as if they were not her feet but a project being worked, and he the craftsman. She ate until her stomach had ceased its complaining, then fell asleep.
It was completely dark when she woke. The blanket was heavy over her, it’s coarse, scratchy fabric rough on her chin. Heavy cloud cover had utterly blocked out the stars and the moon; she couldn’t see a thing, not even her own feet.
“Dol Vi?” she whispered.
She heard a soft shushing sound from him; he was a few paces away.
Despite being blind, survival instinct had her heart thumping in her chest. Sayri drew her knife silently, then slowly wrapped the blanket around her other arm to use as a shield. Were they being attacked? Bandits, perhaps? They can’t see better than we can in this, she told herself.
A short distance away, she heard a low, guttural snort. Not bandits.
&n
bsp; Sayri rolled onto her knees, keeping the blanket in front of her knife, holding it out as bait. On the Lord’s Destrier, Arad had shown her how to fight with a knife. Left arm is a shield. Let your opponent attack the shield. Stab up from under, slash over; quick strikes, then pull it back. Protect the knife.
Another snort, this time off to her left. The same creature circling, or another? She listened for Dol Vi, but he wasn’t making a sound, wherever he was.
A snarl, then, off to her right. More than one, she confirmed. She heard a grunt, probably human, then a yelp.
“Sprinters,” Dol Vi’s voice said suddenly, from where she heard the yelp. He didn’t sound in distress. “Two more, ya left. I coming round ya back.”
She didn’t hear him move; he was inhumanly quiet! Sayri shifted her weight to face the threats, eyes and mouth wide and ears straining to hear the slightest whisper of movement. She caught another snort further left, then a growl on her right. She brought a blanket-covered arm around just in time and something smashed into her, knocking her down.
It clamped on to her left arm, thrashing at the blanket, trying to tear it away. Hot breath snorted on her, spittle splattering across her face. Heavy paws were on her stomach, pressing her down, and she felt its back legs straddling her. It thrashed back and forth wildly, snarling and snorting; she worried it would tear her arm clean off.
She heard another sound, sort of a high-pitched strangled roar; it came from her own throat. She stabbed up once, twice, three times, then pulled the knife back under her left arm. Warm liquid spilled across her chest.
The sprinter was in her face then, it’s weight driving her arm into her face. If it let go, it would be free to tear into her torso. She jerked her arm even higher, above her head, pulling the beast over her, slashed where it’s throat should be, once then again, then rolled to her left, throwing all her weight to pull it down beside her.
It released her arm. She withdrew, scrambling back on her knees, but didn’t hear it move. She heard just a gurgle, and a wheezing sound.
She had killed it.
Off to her left she heard another snarl, then something slammed into the ground close enough that she felt the dust spray over her. A crunch, then three impacts like a hammer slamming into the dirt, then silence.
“Dol Vi?” Sayri said, terrified; if he was dead, she’d have to face the third sprinter, and if she survived, she’d still be lost in the wasteland into which he’d led her.
“Ya live,” he replied. He sounded surprised.
She laughed. She was also surprised. “I killed it,” she said.
“By morning we see how we did,” he said matter-of-factly in the darkness. “Ya hurt?”
“I—” Sayri pulled off the blanket, felt along her arm. “No,” she answered, shocked. It had felt like her arm was being crushed, but the blanket had protected her. Her neck and chest were covered with what must have been the sprinter’s cooling blood; she could smell the metallic odour, and it was sticky. “Just scratches,” she corrected after a moment. Her stomach and breasts were sore where it had pushed her down.
“We clean tomorrow, if ya need it,” he said. “Sleep now.” Silence.
How am I supposed to sleep? she thought.
And yet, after a while, she did.
・
Dol Vi was moving more slowly the next day, but not for her benefit; he was carrying two of the carcasses, while she carried only one. Sayri had balked at the idea of taking them at all, but he refused to leave them behind, insisting that the meat and furs were far too valuable. The smallest one, the last he had killed, was at least manageable for her, weighing not much more than a sack of grain. It had been a while since she had lifted any of those, but her body remembered, though she expected to be sore the next day. Sore all over, instead of just my feet, she considered; her back would ache from carrying the beast, and her breasts were tender from the impact of the sprinter upon her. I wonder if he could massage—
Shocked at herself, she stopped walking. What kind of woman am I to think such things? Arad is my man!
“Keep up,” Dol Vi said, looking back at her, though he wasn’t far ahead. The two sprinters he was carrying were much larger. The biggest one—the one she had killed!—outweighed her. He had appraised it in the morning sunlight, which Sayri was happy to see after the previous days of dreary clouds. He had nodded approvingly at the dead beast, then appreciatively at her. It was an impressive kill in total blackness.
Sayri had seen many sprinters back in the Lower Valley, but always from a distance as they stalked the livestock, then fled as she chased them off shouting, waving sticks, and throwing rocks. They were always quite small and had short, grey or brown fur.
These were different. Much larger, especially across the shoulders and in the head, which was very broad, and the legs, which were longer. The fur was long and soft, pale grey in colour, and the great teeth were as long as her knife. She had shuddered as Dol Vi examined them, and the idea of carrying one across her shoulders with the fangs beside her neck was less than desirable. Now, though, with the carcass on her back, she felt like a hunter returning from a successful hunt. She had killed the beast, and now it belonged to her. There was some pride in that.
The day was more pleasant, at least; though there were clouds, they were billowing and white, and blue sky separated them. When the sun struck her Sayri became hot, but otherwise, the temperature was bearable. If they had had much farther to go, Sayri wasn’t sure she could have carried the carcass all the way. Mid-afternoon, however, she noticed what looked like crack in the ground far ahead; as they approached, it a gash splitting the landscape, stretching several hundred paces in width and running as far as she could see in both directions.
It was quite deep as well, for she couldn’t see the bottom until they approached the lip. The opposite side was a cliff, and the closer side seemed likely to be as well. Several dozen paces straight down, the cliff abruptly became a slope of fallen debris, and below that, she saw a river.
It ran along the bottom of the ravine, and had obviously carved the impressive tear across their path over eons. It was wider and deeper than the stream that ran through the Lower Valley, and Sayri couldn’t help but wonder how the landscape might be different if the water had spread across, rather than cut through, the land over which they had passed.
When they reached the edge of the precipice, she looked down into the gorge and saw N’Tahar. How Dol Vi had managed to navigate across the featureless terrain and arrive at the gorge directly above it, she couldn’t imagine. The village was indeed small, numbering fewer than thirty houses, at a glance; she understood why Dol Vi had laughed when she had asked if it was a city. If each house was home to twice the occupants a typical house in the Lower Valley might hold, there would still be less than three hundred souls in the village below, and she didn’t see enough people walking about to suggest that they did.
With a glance back at her, Dol Vi said, “Watch ya steps,” and walked off the edge. The sun was in her eyes, so she only saw him drop out of sight. For a moment Sayri was stunned, then she advanced cautiously to where he had been standing, and looked down; a steep set of steps fell away before her, carved into the stone of the cliff face. She followed more carefully; in places the stairs cut under the rock and a half-tunnel had been carved to allow passage, barely high enough to pass without ducking. A sharp rap on the head, and it would be all over; below, the cliff plunged down the valley floor, with no slope on this side. She saw the tops of craggy trees and rocks—hardly a soft landing.
The steps didn’t switch back, but led them down at a sharp angle until they stepped to the floor of the gorge, where they were immediately surrounded by thick bushes and tall, dry trees. Dol Vi knew the way well, following a nearly invisible path through the foliage for a while, then they stepped right out into the village.
The houses were small, all mud brick with straw roofs, and haphazardly placed to take advantage of flat areas in the ground. The su
n was already at the top edge of the cliffs to the west. Sayri didn’t imagine the village saw too much sun, which was likely a boon during the long, hot, dry summers. It seemed cooler here even in the sun, no doubt due to the river’s presence. Its gurgling sound was a pleasant and relieving backdrop; Sayri hadn’t realized how much she had missed being near a river.
Dol Vi strolled through the village, nodding and offering incomprehensible greetings to the people he saw. They were a hardy lot, smaller than the average person she had seen in Yalcinae, but obviously healthy and strong; clearly the lifestyle agreed with them. Most of them—both sexes—wore similar clothing to Dol Vi’s; a vest and a skirt, the former in bright colours, and the latter black or dark brown. The women, oddly, had some sort of paint on their legs, as though they had been wading in a pool that dyed them. The colours varied, but were all earthy tones.
The sprinters across their shoulders brought smiles and praise from nearby men, most of which Sayri was unable to decipher; the local dialect differed as much from that in Yalcinae as her own had from Benn’s Harbour when she first arrived. The women greeted Dol Vi, then smiled at her as well, nodding and glancing back at Dol Vi, then smiling more before chatting excitedly amongst themselves. Sayri had the impression they were making incorrect assumptions.
As they passed through the approximate center of the village, Sayri was startled, then repulsed by a desiccated corpse on a crucifix, the flesh long removed by scavengers. She glanced over at Dol Vi walking alongside her, and asked, “What did he do?”
Dol Vi returned her question with a look of impatience. “That is my master,” he finally replied, shaking his head. As he passed by the corpse, he bowed his head to it, muttering something. Sayri didn’t ask for further details.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 24