by Kyra Halland
With nothing else to go on, they headed upstream towards the hills, looking for a place to take the horses across the wash so they could go deeper into the watershed. After nearly a quarter-league, they found a spot where the bank wasn’t as steep and where there was an almost-passable gap through the thorny brush and cactuses. Using the small hatchet from his saddlebags, Silas hacked out a clear path for the horses, then they led Mala and Abenar down into the wash and back up the other side. By now, even though the sun was barely a quarter of the way up the sky, its heat and light were merciless, and the cloudless sky offered no hope of rain or cooling.
Once across, they backtracked downstream to the spot across from where the footprints had disappeared into the wash, then continued another league beyond that, all without picking up the trail again. Silas ventured down into the wash at intervals, looking for tracks, while Lainie stayed up on the bank with the horses, keeping a nervous watch for anyone approaching.
They came to where that wash joined with another creek, then turned back and followed the second wash a couple of leagues back upstream to where another smaller creek flowed into it. Silas had been down in the creek bed; now he climbed back out and sat down in the sparse shade of a thorny shrub. “Nothing.” He took a quick drink from his water bottle. “Not a gods-damned sign of him.”
Lainie watered the horses sparingly from their waterskins. Unless it rained, water was going to be a problem if they had to stay out here more than another day or two. If they dug down in the creek beds, they might find water below the surface, or they might not, depending on how long it had been since the last good spell of rain. “I haven’t seen anything either,” she said. She sat down and took a drink from her own water bottle.
“We know he can’t be far away; you said yourself you sensed him close by. Keep your eyes open; I’m going to check for power again.”
Lainie kept a constant watch while Silas closed his eyes and went still. A few moments went by, then he said, “Still nothing. No shields, no power, not even any life-force. How is the son of a bitch doing it?” He took another swallow of water, then screwed the cap back on the canteen. “He can’t hide from me forever. I’ll find him if it’s the last thing I do.”
The words sent a chill through Lainie, though she knew it was just a manner of speaking. “I hope it isn’t.”
He stood up. “Hope it isn’t what?”
“The last thing you do.”
“Ah.” He reached down and helped her to her feet, then gave her that cocky smile of his and brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Don’t worry, darlin’. It won’t be. I’ve survived this long; I have no plans to let any gods-damned sheepknocking assassin get the better of me now.”
Chapter 7
THEY PASSED THE rest of the day in the same way, following creek beds up and down to their confluences with other washes, backtracking, beating paths through thorny brush and trees and coaxing the reluctant horses down steep, rocky banks and back up the other side, all while the sun beat down harder and hotter and they grew ever more sweaty, dirty, itchy, and irritable.
Silas’s swearing got longer and more intense even as his voice started to give out. Though she knew his anger and frustration weren’t directed at her, Lainie couldn’t help feeling like the situation was partly her fault. If only she had been more careful to take note of where the Granadaian mage was when she found him. If only they didn’t have to worry about what would happen if another mage found out about her.
Maybe she should have stayed back in Ripgap. But she couldn’t bear the thought of waiting and not knowing what was happening to Silas. She didn’t want to end up like poor Adelin Horden. And if she had stayed back, Silas would be out here alone with one and maybe two killers after him. So she managed the horses so that Silas wouldn’t have to worry about them, and watched his back, and searched as hard as she could for tracks or other signs along the banks while Silas was down in the bottoms.
By the time the sun touched the western horizon, Lainie was so worn out she could barely move. Silas climbed out of yet another wash, shaking his head and grumbling Island curses under his breath. She didn’t even need to ask if he had found anything; the answer was clear enough. Instead, she asked, “You want me to fix you something to eat?” All they had were cold dried rations, but at least she could set it out for him.
With a groan, he sank down onto the ground next to where she stood with the horses. “Yeah. I’ve had enough for today.”
Lainie knelt beside him and started removing packets of food from their knapsacks. As she worked, Silas brushed dirt and loose hair from her face. “You’re as tired as I am, darlin’,” he said. “Are you sure I can’t get you to go back to town?”
“I’m sure.” She unwrapped a packet of beef jerky and laid it out in front of him. “We’re in this together. And I’m not leaving you alone out here with them. So,” she glanced sideways at him, then went on, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” She bit her lip as she waited for his answer.
He laughed a little, then gave her a weary grin, so she knew he didn’t mind being stuck with her, or at least not too much. “Somehow, darlin’, I knew that was what you would say.”
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, thunderheads started building up over the hills early in the day. Silas and Lainie still went on foot, leading the horses, as they continued looking for tracks. Being down in the washes when there might be rain upstream could be a deadly mistake, so they kept to higher ground as much as possible. The humidity made the heat even more oppressive, and the air was filled with a tension that only a thunderstorm could relieve. Rainbugs clicked and buzzed in the brush, heralding a chance of rain, their noise constant and maddening despite its welcome message.
By late in the morning, the clouds over the hills towered high and white, nearly black on the bottom, and a curtain of gray gradually thickened across the highest hilltops in the range. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind coming down from the hills picked up, carrying swirls of dust along with a promising smell of rain.
So far that morning, the search had been just as futile as the day before. Then, about mid-day, Silas paused and looked down into the wash they were following. “What’s that?”
Lainie had sunk into a haze of heat, frustration, and boredom. Now, surprise that he had found something, and a touch of fear, jolted her out of it. “What’s what?”
“I thought I saw – wait here.”
He pushed aside the thorny brush growing at the edge of the wash and started climbing down the sloping bank.
“Be careful,” Lainie said, nervously eyeing the storm up in the hills and thinking of the killer who could be lurking down in the creek bed.
“I won’t be but a moment,” Silas called back as he disappeared into the wash. Lainie watched anxiously after him, but he was soon hidden from her sight. She wanted to go after him, so he wouldn’t be alone down there and she wouldn’t be alone up here, but there were the horses to consider –
Without warning, a cold, violent downdraft from the hills slammed into her, followed by a wall of dust. Dirt and sand swirled around her, blinding her, clogging her nose. Behind her, Mala and Abenar neighed in panic, the sound muted and torn apart by the wind rushing past her ears, and she realized that in her anxiety about Silas, she had forgotten to hold onto the horses’ reins. She spun around and lunged to grab the reins before the horses could run away, and missed, and stumbled to the ground. She came up disoriented, with no idea which way she was facing or where the wash was. Even the sounds of the horses were lost in the roar of the wind. “Silas!” she tried to call out, but the wind stole her voice and blowing grit filled her mouth.
She froze in place. Every child in the Wildings was taught that if you were lost in the wild, you should stay put so you could be found. Wandering around, especially in a blind panic, would only get you more lost. She couldn’t be more than a few steps from where she had been and from where Silas had gone down into the wash, she told herself
, trying to stay calm. The wind buffeted her from side to side and front to back, but she fought it, trying to hold her ground. Even small steps would add up, taking her away from where Silas could easily find her.
A pair of arms came around her from behind. Silas. Relief swept away her fear –
The arms tightened mercilessly around her, and the stink of old alcohol and long-unwashed body hit her nose. Panic flared inside her, an urgent need to escape. Before she could move, a rope of glowing green power wrapped itself around her legs and arms, stinging her nerves and paralyzing her. The cold edge of a knife blade pressed against her throat.
At the touch of sharp metal on her skin, her cry died in her mouth. In her mind, she saw clearly the scene that Silas would find when the dust storm passed: her lying dead on the ground, her throat carved open, and no sign of the murderer who came and went like a spirit, without a trace. She started shaking, tears leaking from her eyes, her heart pounding like stampeding cattle.
“Stay still and be quiet, and I won’t have to kill you,” a male voice whispered harshly in her ear.
With the knife against her throat, she couldn’t so much as nod; she could only bite back the sobs of terror that tried to force their way out of her mouth. Had Garis Horden had a warning before his throat was sliced open?
Come to think of it, why had the killer warned her instead of just killing her outright? It sounded like he wasn’t really set on killing her…
He wanted Silas. And he was going to use her to lure Silas in.
The strength left her legs at the realization. Only the killer’s hold on her kept her from collapsing to the ground. Her revolver was in its holster at her hip, but with her arms paralyzed by the magical rope, she couldn’t draw it. She struggled to draw breath, to shout a warning to Silas, if he could even hear her over the roar of the wind and the hissing of dust and sand. The blade pressed a little harder against her skin. Her captor might not be intent on killing her, but he would if he had to. And then Silas would be alone with the murderer.
“You just be good now, baby girl,” the killer said in a high, unpleasant whisper. His breath was rank against Lainie’s face, and the sound of her Pa’s nickname for her coming from his mouth made her stomach twist in revulsion. “This storm’ll blow over soon, and then we’ll see just what Vendine’s willing to do for his birdie.”
What Vendine’s willing to do. It took a moment for the man’s words to sink in. Did that mean he wasn’t planning to kill Silas? Cautiously, she extended her mage senses just enough to feel the man’s power.
Granadaian. He was the one they thought was the killer. If he wasn’t going to kill Silas, what did he want?
Almost as abruptly as it had come up, the wind died down and the dust drifted to the ground. Lainie saw now that she was no more than an arm-length from where she had been standing when the storm hit, only a measure or so from the edge of the wash. The horses stood together not far away. But she might as well have been a thousand leagues from safety; the killer didn’t loosen the magical bindings or his hold on her, and his knife remained at her throat.
With a thrashing sound in the brush, Silas climbed out of the wash a short distance down from where he had gone in. He looked towards Lainie and her captor, and froze. Almost too fast to see, he drew his revolver and aimed it just above and behind Lainie, where the killer’s head would be. His mage ring, which he had started wearing on his left forefinger at some point after they left Ripgap, glowed blue. The glow spilled over to his hand and the gun. “Let her go.” His voice was hard and cold as ice.
“Silas Vendine,” the killer said. “Also known as Siyavas Venedias, the troublesome youngest son of one of the most elite mage families in Granadaia. I always wanted to meet you. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt the birdie. I just want to talk to you. Listen to me, and then I’ll let her go.”
Silas’s gun didn’t waver. “Start talking. And make it good.”
“You know, it’s funny. I never would have thought you would have trouble getting women. Everyone knows you like ’em better filled out than this. I’m surprised this is the best you can do.”
Silas said nothing, and the gun remained steady. Though his hat shaded his face, Lainie could see his eyes narrow and his expression grow more dangerous.
Undaunted, the killer went on. “Though she’s better’n nothing, which is what I’ve had for months now.” With his free hand, he squeezed Lainie’s breast. Revulsion and outrage boiled up inside her, but the magical binding, his unrelenting hold on her, and the knife at her throat prevented her from acting on it. “If you feel like sharing, I can pay you some.”
A click sounded as Silas cocked his revolver. “Unless you’ve got something useful to say, I suggest you shut the hell up.”
“All right, all right. Just tryin’ to have a little friendly conversation first. You’re hunting a killer, right?”
“Yeah, and it looks like I found him.”
“It ain’t me. I took the birdie because I want you to listen to me.”
Not the killer. But then, who was he? Was the Wildings-born mage the killer, after all? Or was it someone else entirely? Lainie tried to make sense of what was going on. A long silence passed; Silas kept his gun trained at the man’s head. “Let her go,” he finally said, “and I’ll listen.”
“You’re not gonna shoot me?”
“Let her go, and I won’t shoot you. Not unless I don’t like what you have to say.”
The knife blade left Lainie’s throat, the paralyzing spell dissolved, and the stranger who said he wasn’t a killer shoved her forward. She stumbled over to Silas. He caught her with his right arm and pulled her close to him while still keeping his gun aimed at the other man. She clung to Silas, shaking, wanting nothing more than to fall apart in the safety of his arms. But she would rather die than let that awful man see how much he had frightened her.
She forced herself to push past her fear and look the stranger straight in the face. He was tall and scrawny, with straggly, thinning dark hair. His skin was brown from a combination of sun and dirt and Island blood, and the look on his face was pinched and mean. He sheathed his long knife at his belt; a gun was holstered on his other hip. On his right forefinger he wore a silver ring set with a dark green stone.
“I think I see how it is,” the stranger said, looking from Lainie to Silas. “I think she’s more to you than just a blanket warmer.”
“Talk,” Silas said.
“Fine. Like I said, I know you’re after a killer. I’m not him. I’m just an ordinary mage, tryin’ to get out from under the Mage Council’s fist. Lookin’ to make a better life for myself out here. Another one of the Council’s hired dogs was after me, a man called Verl Bissom. I was managing to stay just a step ahead of him when he dropped off my trail. I backtracked to see what was going on, see if he was settin’ to ambush me or if he had lost interest. What I saw was he’d been captured himself by some fellow I’d never seen before. Big fellow, and a powerful mage, had a kind of power I never felt before. I heard him asking Bissom about you. Then I saw him hang Bissom from the Onetree.”
“You watched him murder Verl Bissom and you didn’t do anything?” Silas’s voice rose in outrage.
“Hey, it was Bissom or me, you know?”
“I knew Bissom. He was a fair man. He would have let you go in exchange for helping him.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” the stranger whined. “And anyhow, the other fellow was more than I could handle. Scary sheepknocker. But I was curious, figured even if I didn’t want to take him on myself, I could send word to the Mage Council about him. They’d want to know someone killed one of their hunters, right? Thought maybe they’d give me a pardon, maybe even pay me an informer’s fee. So I followed the bastard and saw him capture that other fellow, the one he killed in Ripgap a few days ago. He carried him off to his hideout in the hills yonder, and I followed him there.” He pointed back up the system of washes towards the hills.
“After that
,” the stranger went on, “I went to Ripgap to figure out a way to send a message to the Mage Council and lay in some provisions. Didn’t stay in town, didn’t go to the hotel or saloon there, just, ah, acquired a few things off an old hermit living outside of town. He could spare the goods, and I left some money, so it isn’t like I stole anything. Then you and the birdie showed up. It’s hard to mistake a pureblood Islander or a mage hunter if you know what to look for, and there ain’t many fellas who are both, so that was when I figured out who you are. Then the killer brought that poor bastard into town and did him in. On his way back out of town, he saw me watchin’ him. So I took off, to come out here and hide, and you came after me. I didn’t know if you was really after me or after the killer, but it didn’t matter. The sheepknocker saw me, and he scares me. I don’t care to be killed, or taken in to the Mage Council – it’s one and the same thing, anyway – but that son of a bitch scares me shitless and I’m tired of running from hunters, so I decided to get your attention and offer you a deal.”
“A deal,” Silas said flatly.
“I know what the killer looks like. I know some of his ways. I followed him into the hills before, and I know where his hideout is. And I know I don’t look like much, but I’m a damn good mage myself. No match for this fellow – no normal mage is, by himself – but I figure maybe if you and I team up, we can take him.”
The story made sense, and went along with Silas’s guess that the second mage was hiding because he’d seen the killer. Lainie hated the thought of this man, with his whiny voice and nasty, grabby hands, teaming up with them, but she also hated the thought of Silas facing the assassin without more help than she was able to give him.
“What’s in it for you?” Silas asked.
The stranger ran a hand through his lank, tangled hair. “Like I said, I’m tired of running and tired of letting the Mage Council control my life. You can understand that, can’t you? I think most of you mage hunters are half-renegade yourselves.” His eyes went to Lainie again. “You ain’t the only hunter to take up with a Wildings woman for more than a single night. You’ve no love for the Mage Council yourself, I’d lay money, tellin’ you what not to think and what not to read, and who you can and can’t marry and have kids with. And I don’t mean no harm to anyone. I read Pirs Abenar and the rest of those foreign philosophers, all about natural rights and such. It made sense to me. I just want to live that way myself, without the Mage Council bossing me around, and without bossing anyone else around myself. So. I help you with the killer, and you let me go. Tell the Mage Council I’m dead, collect whatever bounty they have out on me, and let me go live my life in peace.”