Dara hesitated, but her captive was starting to look quite distressed. Her shackles of Fire, a Work she’d seen both Zage Lorrid and her father perform, were less smooth and stable than they should be. The Fire from Rumy flickered in a way that the pure molten power from the mountain did not. Little sparks, almost as fine as mist, spurted off them. The captive was probably in pain. She released her hold, pulling the Fire back into her body, and brought the point of her sword to his neck instead.
“Better?”
The man rubbed at his wrists, already looking happier despite the blade at his throat.
“Dung-eatin’ witch,” he said.
“There’s no need for that language,” Vine said. “Now, will you tell us who hired you and neglected to mention what you were getting yourself into?”
The man straightened his back.
“I wanted a few extra coins for a new horse,” he said. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”
“Not at all. Please continue,” Vine said pleasantly. “And do tell us your name.”
“Tann Ridon. Friends call me Rid.” He eyed Vine up and down, as if hoping she might become one of those friends. “It was a man from Vertigon. Met him in the tavern in Roan Town.”
“Did he have sandy-blond hair and a long nose?” Dara asked. “And a red coat?”
“That’s him,” Rid said. “Probably about thirty-five? Forty? Wouldn’t tell me his name.”
“That sounds like our Lord Vex,” Vine said. “What did he hire you to do?”
“I was just supposed to follow you and report back,” Rid said. “No harm meant.”
“What did he tell you about us?” Dara asked.
“Nothin’. Said you weren’t supposed to be so far from home, and he wanted to know what you were up to.” Rid gave Dara a sidelong glance, easing away from her blade.
“He didn’t say what he wanted with us?” Dara asked.
“Naw. Wasn’t all that talkative. Paid up front, though. That was nice.”
“Interesting.” Dara wondered if Vex Rollendar might only be curious. Perhaps his presence in Roan Town had been a coincidence. On the other hand, there had been those three mysterious riders behind them, and Dara had felt as if they were being followed earlier in their journey as well. “Did he have any men with him?”
“Two bodyguards. They pretended to be his friends.” Rid shrugged. “I ain’t stupid. I wouldn’t trust the guy as far as I can throw him, but I was blasted tired of sitting around waiting for Farmer Wells to take the final ride.”
“Well, we’d appreciate it greatly if you don’t tell him where we’re going,” Vine said. “That would be ever so helpful.”
Rid blinked. “You . . . you mean you’re going to let me go?”
“Vine, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dara said.
“You don’t wish to kill this nice young man, do you, Dara?” Vine said.
“No, but . . .” Dara frowned. Rid was probably harmless, but he was still a Rollendar informant. They couldn’t just let him walk away, but she couldn’t stab someone in cold blood either.
“He is a spy,” Dara said slowly.
“Nonsense,” Vine said. “He’s an enterprising young man who aimed to improve his fortunes in the world.” She reached into her saddlebags for the coin purse she kept there. They were running low on coin, but she didn’t hesitate to pull out a few glittering bits of gold. “If we give you some money, will you kindly pretend you lost us?”
Rid’s eyes widened, and he stared back and forth between Dara and Vine. “Just like that?”
“I don’t see why not,” Vine said.
“But . . . you’re just going to go on down the road all by yourselves?” Rid said.
“Worked out well enough so far,” Dara said.
Rid cleared his throat gruffly. “I’m not sure I can let two women travel by themselves without a protector. I keep hearing there’s gonna be a war. And if you already have crooked folks trying to follow you . . . I could come along . . . maybe be your bodyguard. I ain’t expensive.”
Dara snorted. “I’m not sure you’re bodyguard material.”
“You used witch magic to get me,” Rid said. “It ain’t fair.”
“We’re not taking recruits,” Dara said.
“Hold on,” Vine said. “He has a point, Dara.”
“What?”
“I do?”
“When we reach the High Road, we’ll encounter more travelers. They will wonder about two women gallivanting through the wilderness alone. It has doubtless caused us to stick in people’s memories already. Perhaps if we had a strapping young bodyguard such as this, we would make less of an impression on the world as we pass.”
Rid’s cheeks reddened when Vine called him strapping, and he stood a little straighter.
“I can protect you,” he said. “I win all the staff fights against the other farmhands.” He nodded toward a thick walking stick he had dropped when Dara wrapped him in bonds of Fire.
“I don’t like it,” Dara said. She still held her Savven blade to Rid’s throat, but he didn’t seem nearly as afraid of it as he was of the Fire. Still, they could hardly trust him if he switched sides that easily.
“I have a good feeling about this,” Vine said. “And I wouldn’t mind having someone else to talk to. You are far too worried about our friend to make good conversation, Dara.”
“What friend?” Rid asked.
“You don’t need to know,” Dara said.
“Come now, Dara, no need to be hostile.” Vine stepped up to Rid and delicately lifted Dara’s blade away from his throat. She smiled up at him, widening her big brown eyes. “Don’t betray us, and I daresay you’ll have a chance to see the world. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Aye, m’lady.” Rid looked down at her, already showing a hint of the devotion that Dara had seen Vine command in more than a few men—and women. “I don’t want to be stuck on the farm forever.”
“I think you’ll make a lovely traveling companion,” Vine said. “Let us go. We don’t want to let our friend get too far ahead.”
And she turned and waltzed back toward the road.
Dara landed her blade on Rid’s shoulder before he could move two steps.
“I’ll have no problem killing you if you try to hurt us,” she said. “Just because she’s decided to trust you on a whim doesn’t mean I do.”
Rid’s jaw tensed, but he nodded. “Just don’t do that fiery thing again.” And he followed Vine back onto the road.
They traveled onward, getting closer to the High Road every day. The disquiet that had filled Dara while they were being followed was replaced by worry that Rid would betray them. Even if he didn’t, Vex Rollendar might have sent more than one shadow after them. There was no telling where the elusive lord himself was now.
Keeping an eye on Rid was annoying at first, but as they continued their journey, Dara began to see what Vine had recognized on instinct. Rid was harmless—a young man who’d jumped at the opportunity to change his fortune from a mysterious stranger in a tavern. They might not keep his loyalty forever, but at least Vex Rollendar didn’t have it either.
Rid asked endless questions about Vertigon and the parts of the world he’d never seen before. Vine had traveled and read more than Dara, and she answered his queries patiently. It quickly became clear that Rid considered himself Vine’s bodyguard, not Dara’s. He strode beside her horse, scanning the countryside for threats and boasting about how he’d protect her. Dara wondered how he’d react the first time he saw how good Vine was with a sword.
By the third day after Rid joined their party—the sixth since they’d left Roan Town—it was as though he’d always been with them. He had a guileless energy that helped to relieve some of the tension of the journey. He also took over the duty of caring for the horses with enthusiasm. That alone was enough to make Dara warm to him.
She couldn’t help teasing him with the Fire, though. Once she had a taste of Working again, it
was as if a dam had been broken. That rush of power and heat in her blood reminded her just how much she’d missed the Fire. She took to asking Rumy to share more of his flame each morning. He obliged, producing burst upon burst of dragon fire mixed with Fire. If Dara wasn’t mistaken, each time, he produced a little more of the true power. She was dying to know whether this was something all cur-dragons could do, or if Rumy was unique.
As they rode, Dara practiced, twirling the Fire above Storm’s neck, pooling and spooling it in her hands, building Fire Blossoms and sending them spinning into the trees—or around Rid’s head. She experimented with holding Fire while she did her dueling forms, and she was sure it made her aim more accurate and her connection with the Savven blade more complete. And the heat! The pure heat flowing within her body was better than the most-satisfying run across the bridges or the sweetest soldarberry bursting on her tongue. She’d once insisted she never wanted to touch the Fire again. She knew the dangers of her father’s power. But all too soon she was asking Rumy for more.
Rid hated these practice sessions, at least at first. He had never seen Fire Wielded like this before. In truth, Dara had never seen many of the things she tried as they rode farther and farther toward the setting sun. But he couldn’t help the awe that crept onto his face as she filled the air around them with light and bled Fire out of her pores. It always faded eventually, though. Rumy’s Fire was still nothing compared to the raw power she’d left behind on the mountain. The raw power that called her home.
On their sixth day, they decided to keep riding onward after dark. The Ridge Road smoothed out as it began the final approach to the High Road through a patchwork of vineyards. The vineyards meant people, and they wanted to avoid strangers for as long as possible. Siv was still ahead of them somewhere, but they were slowly making up the distance.
Dara occasionally asked Rumy for a bit of light to make sure they hadn’t strayed off their path. He obliged, looking extra pleased with himself any time his bursts of flame revealed little creatures creeping across the road in the dark.
Rid walked with his hand resting on Goldenflower’s neck, his staff tapping the dirt at regular intervals. He chattered on as usual, sharing a long and convoluted story about horse training back on the farm.
“And then Farmer Wells takes a lump of honeycomb out of his pocket, and the mare—this is the one I told you about yesterday with the bum leg—the mare gets a sniff of the honey, and she—”
“Wait!” Vine said. She stopped abruptly and turned in her saddle, the consternation on her face just visible in the darkness. Rid lifted his staff, whirling it wildly as if he expected attackers to materialize from the air around him.
“What is it?” Dara heeled Storm forward, shoving Rid out of the way. Rumy circled over their heads, providing a burst of illumination.
“He’s gone.” Vine’s face was deathly pale.
“Siv?”
“The Air is still carrying whispers, but I can’t feel him anymore.”
“He’s not . . .”
“I don’t know, Dara.” Vine fidgeted in her saddle, struggling to calm herself enough to listen to the Air.
Dara took Vine’s reins and held her horse steady while she concentrated. Their saddles creaked, and a creature chattered in the darkness. Dara could barely breathe. What did Vine mean Siv was gone? After all this time, had his captors finally decided to kill him? The thought made her want to throw up.
“What’s going on?” Rid asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dara said.
“Is Lady Vine okay?”
“It’s not her I’m worried about.”
Vine sat very still for a long time. Dara tried to sense whatever she sensed, but she was too afraid of what she might find. She felt nothing but dread.
Wind rustled ominously through the vineyards. The rows of bare vines stretched away from them, eerie and empty.
Finally, Vine slumped and held out a hand for her reins.
“Vine,” Dara said, unable to keep the desperation from her voice.
“I’m sorry, Dara. He’s just . . . gone.”
26.
The Vintner’s Rest
SIV and the pen fighters made decent time on the Ridge Road, still stopping to spar whenever Kres said the word. He wanted to train when the mood took him, and no one dared tell him otherwise. Siv had acquired a steady supply of bruises during their journey, and he ached in a different part of his body every mile. He had definitely improved, though. He was working harder than he ever had in his life. Surprisingly, he kind of liked it. He could hardly wait for Dara to see what he’d learned.
Riders passed them regularly now, going in both directions, but they mostly kept to themselves. When Kres asked passersby for news of the world, they responded to his inquiries with suspicion. Unease had plagued Trure since Soole’s invasion of Cindral Forest. Rumors of troop movements spread like wildfire, but no one seemed to have real information.
The High Road was even more crowded when they joined up with it and turned in to Tollan. It was the last village before Kurn Pass, serving as a way station for the miners who worked in the Linden Mountains and the farmers who cared for the vineyards in the southern reaches of Trure. Wagons creaked by sometimes, carrying bushels of dried grass and teetering stacks of barrels. Siv avoided looking at the wagons lest they remind him of his miserable days with the Soolens. He had been enjoying his (relative) freedom too much to think about his unplanned departure from Rallion City.
The sun sat low on the horizon as they entered Tollan. The buildings were mostly constructed of wood in the single-level style prevalent throughout Trure. Dead leaves caught in the thatched roofs, and bare linden trees spread their branches overhead. The purple shape of the Linden Mountains loomed beyond the village, with a distinct dip where Kurn Pass cut through them.
Fiz’s mother kept an inn just off the High Road, not far from the northern edge of town. As they turned into her yard, she burst out of the doors and ran full-speed toward them.
“Fiz! My boy! You are late!”
Fiz swept his mother into a hug, grinning widely.
“We ran into some excitement,” Fiz said.
“It’s bad enough I have to worry about you in the pen. Now I have to worry you’ll find trouble in the wilds too? Hello, Gull, dear. And Krestian, so good to see you again.”
Madame Timon was as wide as her son, though not quite as tall. She had the same flaxen hair and broad smile, and thin wrinkles spidered from the edges of her eyes. She shook hands all the way around the squad. Kres introduced Siv and Latch by first names only. So she hadn’t met Latch before? Very interesting.
“They are proving to be fine recruits,” Kres said. “We shall win every Dance this year, I’m sure of it.”
“I thought you were going out to pick up a young lady?” Madame Timon said.
“Fortune had different plans.” Kres looked at Siv with a calculating gleam in his eyes. “Better plans, I daresay.”
“Fortune? I rather think the wind brought them to you,” Madame Timon said. “You must listen to the Air.”
“Now, now, let’s not get into that old debate again,” Kres said. He offered his arm to Madame Timon and escorted her toward the door of her inn. “You argued me under the table last time I was here.”
Madame Timon chuckled. “I believe that was my house ale.”
Fiz and Gull followed Kres and Madame Timon, who were still talking animatedly. Siv caught Latch’s eye as they crossed the yard—and received a scowl for his troubles.
The inn, called the Vintner’s Rest, was a fine establishment of smooth black stone, apparently one of the few buildings in the village not constructed from linden wood. Fiz greeted the stable boys by name, slapping backs and asking after wives and girlfriends before they whisked the horses away.
The pen fighters climbed the steps of a broad porch at the front of the inn and trooped inside. They found a well-kept common room, with a fireplace of black stone and a single lar
ge table filling most of the floor space. Madame Timon ushered them to seats at the table and commanded them to relax. Before long, they each had a foaming mug of ale and a steaming plate of roast vegetables paired with an unfamiliar dark meat. Siv tucked in, letting the babble of conversation unfold around him. He was so hungry he could eat a mountain bear.
“What’s the news, Mother?” Fiz asked as she set a final plate on the table and joined them.
“All rumors, I’m afraid,” Madame Timon said. “I was hoping you’d know what’s happening up north.”
“We’ve been off the High Road for most of our journey.”
“Well, every traveler that comes through here has a different story about what that Soolen army is up to.” Madame Timon glanced at Latch, taking in his Soolen features. “You may want to keep your head down while you’re in Tollan, my friend.”
“You don’t need to worry about our boy here,” Kres said. He glanced pointedly at Siv as if to hint that he didn’t trust him quite as fully. It didn’t matter. If all went well, Siv would be far away by morning.
“I’m not,” Madame Timon said, “but the army might. I had a pair of Soolen merchants in here a few days ago, and they were questioned more than once. They’re good customers. Stayed here now and again for years, but the soldiers don’t know that.”
“Soldiers?”
“Aye. There’s a new company stationed here to watch the Pass. They’re still letting people through for now, but the whole town is on edge.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t linger,” Kres said. He adjusted his red baldric and glanced toward the window.
“Nonsense,” Madame Timon said. “You all need a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”
Siv was heartened to hear about the increased military presence. It ought to make his defection from the group easier—after that hot meal and good night’s sleep. Would the average Truren soldier recognize the grandson of their king? He didn’t want to be hung as an imposter before he made it back to Rallion City. On the other hand, given how his luck had been lately, maybe it would be better if no one recognized him at all. Being caught by someone who wasn’t loyal to his grandfather—such as the treacherous Lord Bale—would be much worse than roaming around with the pen fighters.
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