The Pearls

by Deborah Chester

  “Thirbe!”

  He picked his way to her, holding up the hem of his cloak. A stocky man grizzled of hair and weathered of face, with a combat-flattened nose and a jaw of iron, Thirbe was formerly of the Twelfth Legion, veteran of four Madrun campaigns under the old emperor, and an expredlicate. He possessed all the toughness of boot leather, the quickness and stamina of a man half his age, the cynicism of a gladiator, and the irritable nature of a thirsty man beholding a closed tavern. Right now, his mouth was clamped tight, and beneath the curve of his leather helmet his eyes glittered with ill humor and impatience.

  “Aye, m’lady,” he said before she could inquire. “It’s stuck up to the axles. You’ll have to come out of there while they see to it.”

  Delighted, Lea pulled her pale blue wool cloak around her shoulders, tying the strings swiftly, and held out her hands.

  Thirbe scooped her up and carried her to pavement, well out of the way of muddy servants and gawking cavalrymen. Every man who happened to glance in her direction smiled and nodded respectfully. Lea smiled back cheerfully, and no sooner did her red leather boots touch the ground than she was twirling around in excitement.

  “What is this place? What a pretty little valley. It looks leagues away from—”

  “Aye, leagues from nowhere,” Thirbe said bitterly. “Another bright idea from love’s winsome dream.”

  “Thirbe, hush!” Lea glanced around to see if he’d been overheard. “Don’t call him that. You will only spread rumors.”

  “My lady!” called out one of her attendants from a second litter standing near the supply wagons. “Do you require us?”

  “No,” Lea said with feeling.

  Thirbe beckoned to a lackey and said, “Inform Lady Lea’s attendants that they are not needed.”

  As the man bowed and scurried away to deliver the message, Thirbe cleared his throat. “Well, then, the captain took some skittish fool notion in his head the moment scouts brought a report of fire in Brondi. He turned off the main road, and now see where we are.”

  “Fire?” Lea asked, busy staring at the woods to the west and a narrow little valley to the east. A stream bordered the other side of the road, chuckling over rocks and running swift between low banks. She still found it very pretty, and yet a sudden prickle of unease touched her. “What kind of fire?”

  “Stupid southlanders,” Thirbe muttered with the typical Itierian contempt for any other province and its customs. “Always building with wood instead of stone. Bound to be fires. Nothing sinister about it. No need for that gormless sprat to assume there’s a riot.”

  “Thirbe—”

  “Well, there ain’t,” Thirbe said, exasperated. “He acts fair gutsnapped at times. I don’t think anyone’s going to attack you, m’lady, with a house fire.”

  She chuckled despite herself, and pulled up her hood against the cold bite of wind. “Captain Hervan is just being careful.”

  “Being a damned noddy-knot, for all I can see,” Thirbe said. “Pulling us onto this abandoned road with some fool notion of saving time by cutting through yon hills.” He pointed to the north.

  Lea swung around and stared at a distant purple smudge. “I’m all for a shortcut, anything to reach Trau more quickly.”

  But Thirbe was scowling, his eyes fierce with resentment. “Ain’t quicker to stand here with a wagon stuck in the mud and three-fourths of the available manpower too pretty to heave it out. When imperial roads are abandoned, it’s for good reason.”

  “Is that what this is?” she asked in surprise, looking at the paving stones that were cracked, in places broken enough for weeds to grow there. Tall grass, flattened by a killing frost, sprawled over the crumbling edges, and ahead of them, past the bog where it looked like the stones had been taken up—perhaps stolen—she could see wind-eddied drifts of fallen leaves. “It doesn’t look like an imperial road. It’s so narrow, and in bad repair.”

  “The really old roads are narrow,” he said. “Gault knows I’ve ridden over most of them.”

  “Then do you know this one?”

  “No.” He made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat while orders rang out and the servants heaved again to free the litter. “We’re lost. That’s the long and short of it. Lost and on a road gone bad. Darkness will be coming early today, and I’ll lay half my wages that it’s going to snow.”

  “Oh yes, there’s no doubt of snow,” Lea said happily, sniffing the air. “I’ve missed that most of all.”

  “Won’t miss it when you’re halfway through them hills and got sleet freezing the road and nowhere to camp.”

  Before she could answer, an adjutant came riding up, reining his horse with a flourish and throwing her a salute. “Compliments of the captain, my lady. A tent and fire for your comfort will be set up shortly.”

  “I want neither, thank you, Barsin.”

  He was a handsome boy, perhaps her age or a year older, staring down at her with friendly admiration. “It’s going to take time to free that litter, my lady.”

  “Is it?” she asked with such delight that Thirbe shot her a suspicious look.

  “Now, there’ll be no prowling about,” he began, but she waved away his protest as she smiled at Adjutant Barsin.

  “Tell Captain Hervan thank you, but I shan’t require the tent.”

  The adjutant saluted again and wheeled his horse away.

  Thirbe turned on Lea at once. “Now, what the—”

  “I’m tired of being cooped up,” Lea said. “I shall ride.”

  “No, m’lady, that you won’t.”

  She fixed him with a determined eye. “Yes, I shall. Not to explore, but to keep going. If we’re to make the best use of this shortcut, we shouldn’t waste time sitting about.” She clapped her hands, and a lackey came running. “My horse, Wim.”

  Bowing, the groom darted away to do her bidding before Thirbe could gainsay her command.

  “Now, m’lady, you don’t—”

  “Yes, Thirbe?” she asked, turning her blue eyes on him in wide innocence. “What don’t I want to do? Is there a town in this valley unfriendly to my brother’s throne? Or some reason why I should not take exercise and breathe fresh air?”

  “Catch your death out here in this cold.”

  Her laughter rang out merrily, causing several people to look in her direction. “Oh, Thirbe, I was born within sight of a glacier. This is merely a mild autumn day, and quite delightful. Come,” she said as her gelding Ysandre was led up and the groom held out his hand to help her mount. “Let us continue.”

  But Thirbe was shaking his head. “We’re off the map, off the approved route you were to take,” he said stubbornly. “Ain’t sensible to keep going.”

  With the reins in her hand she patted Ysandre’s pale shoulder and whispered to him before looking over her shoulder at Thirbe. “Do you have reason to fear bandits on this road? Are you worried about some specific danger?”

  Thirbe looked from her to the groom—standing there agog with his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide with alarm. Lea knew that whatever her protector said would be spread through the company at once by Wim’s gossiping tongue. Obviously Thirbe realized it, too, for he frowned at the boy with such quelling ferocity that Wim turned pale.

  When Thirbe turned his gaze back to her, she refused to wilt beneath its scorching blast and simply smiled at him. “Well?”

  “Ain’t likely they’re going to lurk here. Slim pickings for any cutthroat lying in wait on this donkey trail. It’s just—”

  He broke off, pursing his mouth.

  Realizing he was honestly troubled and not just grumbling, Lea allowed her amusement to fade.

  “What is it, Thirbe?” she asked quietly, taking note of his restlessness, the alert flick of his gaze here and there, the way he stood so that his back was never to the woods. “There’s something here you do not like.”

  “There’s nothing here I like,” he said fiercely, dismissing her groom with a curt gesture.


  As soon as Wim hurried away, Thirbe stepped closer to Lea and lowered his voice. “Nothing I can put my finger on, but there’s an itch between my shoulders. I got the feeling we’re being watched.”

  Lea was all seriousness now. In the three years that Thirbe had served her, she’d never doubted his instincts or his professionalism. She trusted him completely. “Should we turn back?” she asked.

  He nodded, to her disappointment, but said, “I’d prefer it. But we’ve gone nearly a day this way. If the road hasn’t been cut ahead of us, and so far the scouts don’t report such, then I suppose it’s better to keep going than lose another day retracing our steps.”

  Lea watched him. “I’m not so eager to reach Trau that I’m willing to abandon common sense. If you have reason beyond what you’ve said so far, we’ll take the time. If it’s only that you do not like the captain’s changing our plans, then…” Letting her voice trail off, she shrugged.

  Thirbe said nothing, and after a moment Lea nodded her head decisively. “Then we continue,” she said.

  She sent him a look, and he boosted her into the saddle before fetching his mount and joining her farther down the road. Someone called after them, but Lea did not glance back.

  “Shall we race away and see how far we can get before they catch up?”

  Thirbe didn’t bother to answer her nonsense. Sighing, Lea abandoned her impulse to play games and kept Ysandre at a steady walk instead of letting him gallop. He tossed his head and pranced a little, but she didn’t relent.

  Moments later, the sound of galloping hooves made Ysandre pretend to shy, and they were joined by Captain Hervan and perhaps ten or so cavalrymen.

  “Well, Lady Lea!” he called out in his aristocratic baritone. “It seems you have taken command of our party. Are you abandoning us, or leading us onward?”

  Lea swallowed a sigh and bestowed a fleeting smile on him. “I am abandoning the litter and continuing our journey on horseback, as is only sensible.”

  Concern knotted his brow. From the flowing plume of his helmet to the tips of his silver spurs, he was a dazzling creation of all that good looks, fine breeding, wealth, and uniform could provide. No mud splattered the shining perfection of his boots, for he’d been riding at the head of their column all day.

  “It’s one thing to ride for exercise, Lady Lea, but to travel so for the rest of the day will only fatigue and chill you unnecessarily.”

  “Why have you created this myth that I am fragile?” Lea asked.

  “All the finest ladies are agreeably fragile.”

  “I will not break, Captain, and I can withstand the cold as well as anyone.”

  He smiled at her, displaying excellent white teeth beneath a thin, fashionable mustache. “Yes, of course. But why not rest while the servants prepare a fire for you? Getting all the wagons through this mud will take time. You would perhaps enjoy a meal, and the poet will oblige you, I’m sure, with his newest song.”

  Lea had heard the poet-singer rehearsing since morning, between complaints that the cold air was bad for his voice and requests to please ride in an enclosed litter with the ladies. Lea was not disposed to listen to any of it again.

  She gathered her reins, making Ysandre shift and toss his head impatiently. “No, thank you.”

  “Some other diversion? Your priest, perhaps?”

  “No.” It was useless, Lea knew, to remind him that Poulso was not her priest. Captain Olivel Hervan, despite his excessive charm served on a platter of flattery, never listened to anything she said. “I’m going on, Captain,” she said now, firmly. “When the wagons are past this point, they can catch up. Please inform my ladies that they are free to ride after me, or remain with the wagons.”

  “Lady Lea—”

  She held up her hand to silence him. “I suggest that in addition to a pry pole, your men try laying bundles of sticks across the bog, so that once my litter is free the other wagons don’t stick in the same spot.”

  “Lady Lea—”

  “Come, Thirbe,” she said, kicking Ysandre forward.

  But the captain’s horse moved to block her path, and he leaned over to grab her reins. “Wait, please.”

  She jerked her horse to one side, spurring him out of Hervan’s reach. “Never try that again,” she said fiercely, and sent Ysandre cantering up the road.

  Chapter 5

  She might have won the skirmish, Lea thought some time later, but she wasn’t sure it constituted a victory. The initial exhilaration of being outside in the fresh, cold air, riding through this lovely valley had given way to increasing uneasiness as the afternoon wore on.

  She could not say exactly what troubled her about the place. The old imperial road wound along the natural contours of land instead of running arrow straight. It followed a stream that flowed shallow and quick between low, flat banks and outcroppings of water-worn limestone. To her right stretched fallow fields, dotted with self-sown saplings and choked with long coarse grass browned and knocked flat by a killing frost.

  Strange, Lea thought, that there were no birds here. No flocks of slim, gray-backed chikbeaks flying up in alarm from the undergrowth with that distinct buzzing whir of wings. No marshbirds with gaudy red markings flitting here and there among the weeds, foraging before winter closed in. Plenty of tall, gone-to-seed plumes of fluffy thistle grew along the road’s edge, yet where were the tiny yellow fincos she’d seen elsewhere hanging upside down and feeding so greedily they barely flew away at the horses’ approach?

  The ten cavalrymen riding with her initially had swelled in number to almost the full squadron of a hundred. Her ladies had caught up, looking rather flushed and wind-blown on the placid mares assigned to their use. The musicians were along as well, and one had begun plucking a lute although he’d yet to find a tune, in Lea’s opinion. A flash of white, crimson, black, and silver went galloping by, catching her attention. It was Captain Hervan, riding his large bay horse effortlessly, his short cloak and helmet plume streaming out behind him. Barsin rode in his wake, getting splattered for his devotion. Lea saw the pair slow down at the front of the column and take their usual positions there. Of the wagons there was no sign. According to Sergeant Kress, who came up to her shortly thereafter at a sedate and respectful trot, the litter was now safely out of the mud, but the food wagon proved to be too heavy for the sticks laid out for it. It had sunk down to the axles and looked like it might stay there.

  Lea exchanged a look with Thirbe. “We’d better hope we reach an inn by nightfall if we’re to have supper,” she said.

  He frowned, still looking restless. “Aye, there goes your gear and grub. Did he leave all the servants behind as well?”

  “They’ll catch up,” a cavalryman volunteered cheerfully.

  Around her, everyone was conversing, completely at their ease. Lady Fyngie’s giggling told Lea that her youngest attendant was flirting with the lute player again. Laughter and chatter filled the air, sometimes ringing through the valley, and all the while Lea’s sense of oppression grew.

  She understood now why Thirbe felt as though he was being watched. She felt it, too, and knew it to be the bad jaiethquai hanging over this desolate little valley.

  No birds. No villages. No barking dogs or running children peeping in shy curiosity from the road hedges. No curls of smoke from chimneys. Only the sigh of a cold north wind through the trees and frost-burned leaves fluttering to the ground. Aside from the noise of her party, there was no other sign or sound of life here.

  The jaiethquai seemed so dense and sad that Lea felt as though she’d intruded into someone’s grave site. What a sad place, a terrible place, she thought, if not even the wild birds would come to it. She wished she had not come this way either and regretted not turning back when she had the chance.

  “Look,” Thirbe said, pointing across the stream. “Ruins.”

  Lea stared hard in that direction. Although it was but midafternoon, the day was growing progressively gloomier, with long, inky shadows alr
eady darkening beneath the trees. She saw a few small mounds choked by grass and vines, but no real evidence that any dwellings had once stood. Disappointed, she fingered her necklace of gli-emeralds for reassurance, taking care to maintain her inner balance against whatever oppressive forces lingered in this place.

  “I don’t see them,” she said.

  “Bound to be more ahead.”

  She was on the point of asking Thirbe how he knew that if he’d never been here before, but she was interrupted.

  “Er, Lady Lea,” said a deferential voice. “May I join you for a short while?”

  She saw that the priest had ridden up to her. Mounted on a slope-shouldered, nondescript horse, the Reformant was a heavyset man with multiple chins, thick brows, thicker lips, and a large, unfortunate wart on one cheek. He was an extremely ugly man, and although that hardly mattered to Lea, his personality was too colorless to compensate for his looks. Her attendants despised him, making fun of him at every opportunity despite Lea’s reproaches. As a result, she felt obliged to compensate for their cruelty by giving him more of her attention than she really wanted to. It was most vexing.

  “Poulso,” she said now in polite acknowledgment. “Of course you may.”

  As he rode up beside her left stirrup, Lea shot a look of mute dismay at Thirbe on her right. Her protector waggled his brows without sympathy, as if to say she could have avoided this by remaining inside her litter.

  “I thought,” Lea said, turning back to the priest, “that you’d elected to stay with the wagons.”

  Poulso bowed, or attempted to, making an awkward sort of slouch in the saddle. “You have been most kind, most gracious, dear Lady Lea, in granting me the use of the enclosed wagon. Of course, it was a trifle crowded in there among all the chests, and the musicians have been rude about my sitting on one of the panpipperies and breaking it, but I assure you it was a most inadvertent accident and I meant no deliberate harm of their possessions.”

  “No,” she murmured.

  “Otherwise, the wagon has been most comfortable, much to my liking. I have stayed quite warm, and my chilblains are better.”