Doc Mason sucked on his teeth. After a moment, he turned back to Clara and Istvhan, a trace of sheepishness on his face. “Well, my friends, I see we will need to make camp for the night. I will offer you the hospitality of the wagon, Domina Clara, and…”
“No,” said Clara hastily. Istvhan wasn’t sure if it was the fear of being closed in a wagon again, or simple desire not to kick an elderly man out of his own bed. “I am quite used to sleeping on the ground. If we may borrow the underside of your wagon, to keep the damp off…”
Doc Mason sighed. “My chivalry is injured, but my sciatica thanks you, my dear. Yes, of course. It is a poor repayment for getting us on our way, but I will do better when we arrive at the Three-Legged Horse.”
The Three-Legged Horse was at the intersection of the minor road past the mountains and a far larger one, where the southern trade road curved north toward Morstone. “We’ve lopped about a week off our travel time,” said Istvhan, “though I can’t say I enjoyed the mountain route much.”
“I hope that means we’re a week closer to the raiders,” said Clara, watching Doc Mason haggle with the innkeeper.
“It should. The smooth men apparently took the same route we did, so I’m not sure how far behind them we are now.”
“Those bodies weren’t two weeks old.”
“Definitely not. I wonder if they had to go to ground for a bit and wait for a new set of hosts to come by.”
“Those poor people.” Clara frowned. “What do you think they do if they can’t find a new person?”
“We don’t actually know. We don’t know much of anything. It takes two of them to transfer between hosts, and if they get separated, they’re vulnerable.”
“So there could be…what? Random clay heads out there in the woods, whose bodies rotted away under them?”
“Very possibly.” Istvhan gave her a wry look. “Delightful thought, isn’t it?”
“You have an odd definition of delight.”
“Mmm.”
Tolly came back from tending the mules. “Granddad got you two rooms,” she said. “Err—is two right?” She looked from one to the other.
“Yes!” said Clara, a little too quickly.
Tolly smiled. Her eyes crinkled up at the corners. In a few years, she’d probably get laugh lines there. “All right. We weren’t certain.”
“One never quite knows with bodyguards,” said Doc Mason, having finished his haggling. “Whether or not they want to sleep on the floor in front of the door or something equally dramatic. Barricading the doors and the like. Which I’m happy to accommodate! Just tell me so that I can stop this scoundrel of an innkeeper from trying to fleece me, like the tenderest of lambs.”
Clara was of the opinion that if Doc Mason was a sheep, he was the sort of mutton so tough that wolves would break teeth on him, but she wasn’t sure if he would take that as a compliment.
“I think I can avoid building any barricades,” said Istvhan. He grinned at Clara over Mason’s head.
The trip to the Three-Legged Horse had been easy. They walked alongside the mules when the mules walked, and rode on the wagon when the mules trotted. There was space enough for four, if someone sat behind the drivers, although both Clara and Istvhan found the leg room a trifle lacking. Mostly they walked.
Doc Mason was a charming travel companion, full of questionable information and stories that Clara did not believe for an instant. Tolly was much quieter, probably in self-defense, but she laughed often and she reined in her grandfather as easily as she did the mules.
It was not as cold as it had been in the mountains. Sleeping under the wagon at night was no different than it had been with Istvhan’s company, if you didn’t count the sexual frustration. Still, Clara had to admit that a real bed would be nice, even if it was almost certainly going to be too short.
She opened the door to her room. Yep. Exceedingly short, and tucked into an alcove so that her feet hit the wall. She sighed.
“Mine’s the same way,” said Istvhan, leaning out his door. “Still, they’ve got a bath house. I’ll take it.”
“You and me both.” She hadn’t had more than a splash in a ditch since being the bear, and the change always left her feeling vaguely oily. “I think I brought half the mountain with me. Mostly between my toes.”
The tub, as it turned out, was also rather small. Nevertheless, Clara dumped hot water over all the bits she could fit into it at one time and scrubbed with the sand that the innkeeper provided until her skin was pink and smarting with the feeling of clean, clean, clean.
Being able to bite through a man’s head and walk through a snowstorm was very useful. Clara just wished that it didn’t come with the sense of being oily.
Or with horrifying one’s travel companions. He’s been very polite, though. I should be grateful.
She was pulling on the loose belted robe that the innkeeper also offered to travelers—not completely clean, but a lot cleaner than her own clothes, which were currently being smoked over a fire to kill the smell and any bugs—when someone banged on the door to the tiny bathhouse.
“A moment!” Clara pushed her feet into the much-too-small sandals. Still, so very civilized, supplying sandals. I approve. She hobbled to the door and opened it.
“I let you go first because I’m a paladin and chivalry is not dead,” said Istvhan, “but if you don’t hurry up, I’m going to remember that I’m a very lapsed paladin and that you can easily beat my ass in a fight.”
“Is chivalry only for people you can beat up, then?”
“Generally.” He held the door open for her anyway. “Also there’s a lot about horses, and I don’t fight on horseback.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Horses hate berserkers. Absolutely hate them. They’ll throw themselves over to get rid of us. And…ah…at that point they become a threat.” He looked oddly embarrassed.
“And if they’re a threat…?”
“Let’s say that it doesn’t always end well for the horse. The battle tide spares the innocent, but not if they’re trying to kill us. May I have a bath now?”
“Good to know,” Clara said. “Yes, of course.” She stepped out of the way. Interesting. I wonder what the beast will think of a berserker? She remembered roaring back at Galen. That had been a challenge, one large predator to another. Perhaps I already know.
A more pressing thought struck her, and she called back over her shoulder “The tub’s too small.”
“Of course it is.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Doc Mason over dinner. “Well, we’ve been thinking.” He put his arm around Tolly. “You two are headed Morstone way, aren’t you?”
Istvhan and Clara exchanged glances. They had folded themselves into the small chairs and were devouring food as fast as it was put in front of them. The local delicacy was a thick wheat noodle with an equally thick sauce and a great deal of late-season squash smothered in butter. Istvhan could not remember the last time he’d had butter on something and was fully prepared to eat the entire harvest on his own.
Clara, at his elbow, was putting a similar amount of damage on the food. Well, she was supporting quite a large body for a while…and carrying you…hmm, I wonder how food carries over for shapechangers. He also wondered if Doc Mason had expected the bill for dinner to be quite so high.
“Normally, as we start to approach Morstone, I’d hire a couple of men as guards,” said Doc Mason, who did not seem particularly troubled.
Clara paused, fork held aloft. “This is an extremely well-traveled road,” she said. “We’ve seen two guard posts. Is there still a problem with bandits?”
“Oh no, not bandits.” He waved his hands. “No, it’s for the show. Selling Doc Mason’s Herbal Medicines!” The words rolled off his tongue as if he were singing them. Tolly shook her head silently and gazed at the ceiling.
“Is tonic selling dangerous?” asked Istvhan.
“It can be. The shows are an event! A performance! And I fear tha
t not everyone enjoys a performance.” His voice dropped and became somewhat less theatrical. “Also, there’s usually a few drunks and they often think it would be delightful to get up on stage with me.”
“Ahhh.”
“Ohhh.”
Both Clara and Istvhan made nearly identical noises of comprehension. “You need a bouncer,” said Istvhan.
“Ideally, yes. And as the two of you are also heading in the direction of Morstone, if you do not mind a day or two out of your way…” He spread his hands. “We don’t stay at many inns at night, I fear, but I can offer you hot food whenever we pass one.”
Given the speed at which he and Clara were tucking in, Istvhan suspected the good doctor might lose money on that bargain. He glanced over at Clara and raised an eyebrow.
“Our companions are a ways behind us, and won’t catch up for at least a week,” he said. “But I must yield the final decision to the Mother Superior.”
Clara kicked him under the table. Istvhan smiled serenely, glad that she was still barefoot.
“It sounds like an excellent deal for us,” said Clara. “But what do you get out of it? We might be dangerous fugitives.”
Doc Mason chuckled. “I am counting on the dangerous part,” he said. “Though I’d prefer the gentleman leave his sword in the wagon during the show. It is all fun and games until someone loses their head.”
Istvhan stiffened involuntarily. So did Clara. Mason looked from one to the other. “Did I say something wrong?”
“It’s a long story,” said Istvhan. “We’ll tell you on the road, maybe.” He reached for another slice of squash.
“Then it’s agreed!” Doc Mason beamed at them. So did Tolly.
When they had finally finished making up for days of trail rations, Clara and Istvhan made their excuses and headed upstairs. Istvhan cleared his throat once they were in the upper hallway. “Do you still think this is on the up-and-up?”
Clara paused outside her door. “I do.” She worried at her lower lip with her teeth and Istvhan found his eyes riveted on the motion.
The last time they had been in an inn hallway together, she’d kissed him until his back hit the wall. Istvhan suspected that wasn’t going to happen again. You’ve stabbed her, insulted her, and compared her to the smooth men. You’re lucky she doesn’t slap you every time you look at her.
He realized it was his turn to talk and managed, “Oh, ah?”
“Even if we assume that they’re going to drug us once we’re near Morstone and drop our neatly bound bodies at the gate of the amphitheater…there’s just no way they could find out that I was still alive in time, and then happen to be waiting at the exact right place.” She folded her arms and leaned against her door. “Doc Mason’s a tough old bird and he might be able to hide what he’s thinking, but I don’t think for a second that Tolly knows what I am.”
That caught Istvhan’s attention. “Really? You can tell?”
“Usually.” Her smile held a bitter trace. “They give me a little too much space and they watch me constantly when they think I’m not looking.”
Am I doing that? Istvhan wondered. He felt an immediate urge to take a step closer to her, just to prove he didn’t care. Except I might care? But I shouldn’t care, unless I should care very much, since that’s part of what she is. But… He cleared his throat and told himself to stop babbling. “So Tolly isn’t watching you all the time.”
“Not at all.” Clara’s smile grew, and lost the edge. “Actually, she’s watching you.”
Twenty-Two
Tolly was watching him. Istvhan realized it the next day. It wasn’t in any way sinister, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit flattered, though. It was the sort of look he was used to getting from women who were interested in men, and particularly interested in big, well-muscled men who cleaned up reasonably well.
It was just a trifle inconvenient, because while Tolly was quite attractive, she was also at least fifteen years younger than he was, not to mention their host’s granddaughter.
Also, Clara found the whole thing hilarious.
“Well, you’re a paladin. This must happen to you all the time,” she said, as they collected firewood for the campfire that night. “Lovely young women swooning after men in armor, committed to the cause of justice, off to the next battle with demonic forces…”
“That’s the paladins of the Dreaming God,” said Istvhan, trying not to grit his teeth. He shouldn’t be annoyed. He’d given his brother paladin Shane crap about this for years. Shane was so handsome that he almost had been a servant of the Dreaming God. Women looked at him and lost the power of speech. “I was Saint of Steel. We’re not the pretty ones.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” His heart rose. “Galen’s a good-looking man, even if he doesn’t want anything I’ve got.” His heart sank again.
He grunted. Clara picked up most of a log under one arm. “Have you ever fought demons?”
“A couple times. They mostly get into farm animals.”
“We had that happen to a rooster once.” She headed back toward the wagon, carrying her log. “Hard to tell at first because plenty of roosters are bastards, but when the novicekeeper went to wring its neck, it started speaking in tongues.”
“Saint’s balls. What did you do?” Rogue demons were dangerous and could jump to humans if they could get a foothold.
“The Abbess and Sister Sigrid drowned it in holy water. I’m not sure if it couldn’t jump out of the rooster or if it just decided we weren’t worth the trouble and went back to hell. Sigrid said it was a young, stupid one, though.”
Istvhan suspected that even a young, stupid demon would think twice about bothering a nun again. He was flesh and blood and had had his soul purified by divine fire on a regular basis, and even he was routinely frightened by nuns.
Am I frightened of Sister Clara, though?
He grimaced and answered his own internal question. No, I’m bloody goddamn terrified. And not just because she can turn into a bear.
“The last one I helped with was in a feral sow,” he said. “We had two paladins of the Dreaming God with us. They took the demon that was in the sow and the rest of us tackled the sounder of pigs she had with her.”
“Now that sounds unpleasant.”
Tolly turned to stare at them as they entered the circle of firelight. “Did I just hear that right? You fought a demon?”
“And he was incredibly brave, too,” said Clara. Tolly’s eyes shone with hero-worship. Istvhan gazed across the fire at Clara and thought dark thoughts.
Traffic picked up even further as they traveled north. There was rarely a stretch of road where Istvhan couldn’t see a farm cart in the distance or another merchant passing by. Troops wearing the wave-and-sword insignia of Morstone passed by at least once a day. No one offered them violence, and Istvhan stopped reaching for his sword hilt every time he saw someone in a field or cutting through a distant copse.
“How do you think the others are doing?” asked Clara one night, as they lay side-by-side under the wagon.
“I am trying not to worry. Galen’s a perfectly skilled commander, even though he hates it. Brindle could keep the mules going if they had four good legs between the three of them. But the mountains are treacherous nonetheless.”
“I worry that the raiders will come for them, thinking I’m still there,” Clara admitted.
“Galen will tell them you’ve left. Probably invite them to search the wagon if they’d like. He’s…an original thinker.”
She chuckled. “He gets it from his boss, I imagine.”
“I’m not really his boss.” Istvhan rolled on his side to face her. It seemed very intimate, even though they were outdoors. Banked firelight left orange splashes across her skin, and the shadows of the wheels were edged with purple. “We don’t have much rank left among the Saint of Steel’s chosen. Only seven of us made it out alive. There didn’t seem to be much point.”
“So few of you.”
&
nbsp; Istvhan nodded. He braced himself for the follow-up—what happened? How did it feel? What is it like to feel your god die?
Clara surprised him. “How long did you serve Him?”
“Not as long as some of the others. I was in my mid-twenties when the madness came on me. Which is, perhaps, why it holds me more lightly than some of the others.” He decided to turn the question back. “But you went to the convent when you were young?”
“Mmm. Yes. When I had the change. I was…eight? Nine? Everyone in the valley knows that if a child isn’t…right…you talk to the Sister of St. Ursa.”
“Isn’t right?” He felt a flicker of anger for nine-year-old Clara. “I don’t know that I’d call turning into a perfectly good bear ‘not right.’”
Clara laughed once, loudly, then put her hand over her mouth. “Well,” she said, her eyes dancing, “I appreciate that I am a perfectly good bear. But it was rather shocking for my parents. And not the sort of thing you expect a normal family to deal with. They weren’t bad people, but they were out of their depth. It’s much easier if the convent takes us.” She sobered, rolling back to stare up at the underside of the wagon. “There are stories of families chaining up their daughters out of fear of the beast. And since the bear comes out particularly when you are frightened or angry…well. A self-fulfilling prophecy. There was one when our former abbess was a novice. She broke out of the cellar they kept her in, killed her family, and ran to the hills. But she had no idea how to hunt as a bear, so she would descend on farms and kill livestock. The convent had to deal with her.”
“Deal with her?” Istvhan was fairly certain he knew what that meant.
She nodded. “If she had been content to live wild in the woods, we would have kept an eye on her, but let her be. But she put us all at risk. The convent is not an open secret, but enough people have sent daughters there…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “You cannot let them think that we are wild beasts. If that is allowed to fester, we all die, and what becomes of the next generation of St. Ursa’s daughters?”
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