Reandn swung down and retrieved the twisted shoe from the road behind them. "Good job," he told the gelding, who stretched his neck to sniff at the offending metal. Reandn scowled when he saw the foot it had been on; well-clenched nails had torn chunks from the hoof wall, making the reset a tricky task. He tied Sky to the nearest tree and flipped the saddlebag open to digging after the nails and tools.
Sweat dribbled off the end of his nose as he fought with the shoe, finally straightening it enough to suffice, and not without the passing advice of several travelers. He was shirtless by the time he set shoe to hoof, driving each nail with a care he didn't usually take, breaking the sharp ends off with a twist of the hammer claw and settling for clumsy clenches he hoped would hold until he found someone with a complete set of tools to do the job right. Sky was docile throughout the process, pleased to stand on three legs and slyly use Reandn as a prop for the fourth.
By the time he had finished, Reandn felt like a Yearling during the first days of training. He tucked his vest through the back of his belt and tightened the horse's cinch, turning back the way they'd come. The road crossed a stream less than a mile back—a good spot to wash up and make camp for the night. Sky was delighted for the saddle to come off early, and expressed himself with a snort-filled exhibition of rolling. The sight was almost enough to make up for the delay—and so was the extra time Reandn devoted to a decent meal.
But when night fell and he wrapped his light blanket around bare shoulders to keep the insects off, things changed. Sleep came fast, and plunged him into the void he thought he'd left behind at Farren's house—the tangle of mismatched senses, swirling impressions of danger, nauseating memories of pain. Coherent thought was impossible, but he knew, he knew what had happened— the madness is back—
He fought it, clinging to obsession. Find Ronsin. Avenge Adela. But Ronsin's ethereal torture chamber shredded his thoughts and soul, and he couldn't claw his way free.
No. Adela's voice came clear and firm, and not to be denied. In the background, Reandn heard something he'd only heard once or twice before—the sound of Kavan's laughter. Childish laughter, in a balm of joy. Then Adela whispered You're safe, love.
He clung to the feel of her, burying the sensory confusion in the one thing he knew best. Hold on to me, she said, and he did—until suddenly she was gone, and the disorientation was gone as well.
Reandn started awake. The blanket twisted off his shoulders, and sweat dribbled down his temple and chest. Damnation, that was real. Too real. Enough to make him tremble, to stick in his throat where his breath came quick and hard. After a moment, he climbed to his feet and moved unsteadily to the gelding. The horse was large and solid in the darkness, and Reandn put his arm over the animal's withers, glad for the company. Sky dozed without concern, tangible evidence that the night held no threat for either of them.
But as Reandn steadied, relaxing against the horse's bulk, he realized he'd started working his jaw, trying to ease the subtle discomfort he'd not felt since he'd arrived so abruptly in this South. Since he'd left Ronsin behind.
Magic. He lifted his head as though he could scent such a thing on the wind; and the memory of his dream tugged at him. Ronsin's magic. It roamed the night, and he had no defense from it. He took a deep breath, stroking the bay's neck with a resolutely steady hand; soon, the magic faded. Get used to it, he told himself. Ronsin would have magic when Reandn finally met up with him; Reandn would have to manage it somehow. He rubbed his thumb across the gold on his little finger, drawing strength of purpose from Adela's ring. I will not fail you.
Eventually, he retrieved the blanket, propping himself up against a tree near Sky. The horse had turned to lazy browsing, wrapping his lips around leaves and grinding steadily at the accumulating mouthful; occasionally he stopped for a sleepy sigh, content and secure. Perhaps it was catching, for when Reandn finally fell asleep, it was deep and sound and had no vestige of magic at all—only the soft brush of a presence that was Dela.
When he woke it was late in the morning, and he found Sky jerking restlessly at his tie rope, eyeing the travel-diminished pile of gear and supplies within which sat his grain.
Reandn groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, theatrically reluctant to face the world. When he rose, he hurried to feed the horse and himself, even though it was too late to make good time before the heat struck. As he saddled up, commotion on the road made him pause, and the thick trees revealed just enough to make out the approaching wagons of a trade caravan.
Sky arched his neck at the scent of other horses, then lifted his head high and curled his lip up to mark the odor of a mare in season. "Quit that," Reandn said sharply, but not without sympathy. He hoped the caravan would go straight on and leave them the road to Solace; he wasn't interested in dealing with a frustrated horse who didn't yet realize he was a gelding. He gave the slow-moving conglomeration of wagons and riders plenty of time to make it past the turn off before he ventured onto the road with his prancing horse.
Sky wanted to run, to catch up and flirt with the mares. They compromised with a high-stepping rack that would have been lovely to watch and even nicer to sit if the scarred hock hadn't for the first time interfered with the gelding's animated movement. They had a brief fight when Sky refused to turn toward Solace; Reandn took it as good sign that the caravan had indeed gone on. After they'd whirled a few circles and raised a little dust, the horse heaved a sigh and moved reluctantly down the road. Reandn gave him a pat and let him walk out the angry sweat he'd worked up.
"That was quite a show."
Reandn stiffened at Farren's unexpected voice. Sky stopped short, hopeful at any sign they might indeed follow the caravan mare.
Farren was standing in the trees by the side of the road. Just standing, as if he'd been there for days, waiting for Reandn to come along. Tanager sat a short distance away, his back up against a tree and a small pack mule tied behind him. Reandn didn't say anything for a long moment, as he thought of his dreams, and of the magic he'd felt. Finally, his voice cold, he said, "Farren."
The wizard nodded, and said nothing more, his magic quiet, his demeanor placid. But I heard you last night, old man. You and your magic. Reandn gave him a grim little smile. "And what in the Lonely Hells are you doing here?"
"Following you, of course," Farren said. "There's no use at all in denying it. I told you before—you have something I need. "
Reandn laughed, short and humorless. "However you found me—" the magic— "you're still on foot. I've got a horse. You're not likely to run me down."
Farren tilted his head. "Yes, and quite an animal he is, in his moments. But now that we've met up, I hope you'll consider traveling together."
Reandn gave a bark of laughter. "You're one of the things I'm leaving behind." He twitched his legs against Sky's sides and the horse ambled forward, taking only one wishful glance at the other road.
"We found you once," Farren said. "And we know where you're going." Reandn froze, but didn't turn. "Well, we have a good idea," the wizard said, qualifying his words. "Bergren said you'd asked for directions. So you go on, son. We'll see you in Solace."
Reandn hesitated, looked over his shoulder. If he left the wizard behind, he'd never know just what the man was up to; it might very well be more trouble than having Farren close by. And if the old man continued to keep track of him with magic, Reandn would always be plagued with the uneasy sense of it, the noise playing at the edge of his hearing.
His dilemma must have shown, for Farren said quietly, "We're not here to hurt you, son. I only want some answers. They're important enough that I can't let you walk away—although I don't mind telling you, Lina just about had my hide when she learned I planned to follow you."
"You got here with the caravan," Reandn guessed.
"They left Maurant the same day you did. I'm surprised we caught up with you."
"Sky threw a shoe." Reandn sighed, taking up the reins. Better to keep an eye on the old man than be follo
wed. And he had no doubt the wizard would stay on his trail; he'd come half the distance already.
A touch of his calf and Sky moved out, bobbing his head impatiently at the human's indecision. They moved away from the two figures—but they moved at a walk. Behind them, Tanager scrambled to his feet, dragging the mule as he took to the road with his grandfather.
The monotony of the slow pace only exacerbated the annoyance of the wizard's presence—with or without magic—and Tanager never seemed to notice he was the only one talking. The group walked through noon, and by the time early evening arrived, the sight of a modest inn nestled among the trees came as pure relief.
The past days had presented Reandn with plenty of similar establishments, but he'd ignored them—they offered little more than a roof and marginal food. Tonight, however, he needed a blacksmith, and he had no intention of making camp for three people. He left Farren and his grandson at the inn and followed the innkeep's directions to the small village, not so far away, that held the closest blacksmith.
In the morning he struck out at his normal hour—and found Farren and Tanager waiting for him—Farren patient, Tanager bored. He didn't bother to argue about it when the two fell in beside him. After an hour or so of walking, Farren mentioned, as offhandedly as Reandn figured it was possible, that he'd seen Sky didn't have enough grain, and he'd bought some.
Reandn stopped the horse and looked down at Farren. Tanager lagged behind, leading the mule, and not paying much attention to anything at all. "You're really going to follow me all the way, aren't you," Reandn said flatly to the wizard. "Even if I leave you behind, you'll keep right on coming."
"I have friends in Solace," Farren said. "I have no doubt I'll find you again when I get there. And I'd like to visit Teayo."
Of course he had friends in Solace. Just like Ronsin would. Reandn looked away from Farren, off into the woods. He didn't have any doubt that Farren could follow through on his words, with or without friends. He could, after all, always use magic. He didn't seem to have as much as Ronsin—but it was no coincidence that Farren had shown up on the heels of the previous nights' magic.
Reandn spent a moment weighing the aggravation of Farren's presence against the freedom to travel more quickly—but of having to deal with magic in his head while he did so. After a moment, he abruptly dismounted.
"Might as well do this the smart way," he said, tugging at the knots over his supplies. "Load your mule with my extra gear, and we'll see if Sky will carry double."
After an anxious moment, Sky decided he would indeed carry both Tanager and Farren—as long as neither touched the reins. The gelding followed at Reandn's shoulder as they walked the packed dirt road. Farren was, after all, not a large man, and while Tanager had more in the way of arms and legs, it was all gawk and not much flesh yet. No one suggested that Reandn might ride double with anyone. By switching frequently, they kept up a stiff pace.
It worked for a day and a half, which was longer than Reandn expected. Come evening, they were all tired; Reandn sat atop Sky with a loose rein, scanning the woods for a stopping place, when their uneasy truce came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly magic was back, subtly thrumming through Reandn's head and building to quick fury.
He spun the surprised bay in the road, blocking Farren's path; his voice growled low. "Stop it."
Farren came to a standstill, startled. "I don't— "
"I said, stop it." Reandn crowded the wizard, forcing him several steps backward. Sky's eyes rolled white, and his nose went straight in the air, torn by the commands to do this forbidden thing, this pushing the human.
"I heard you," Farren said irritably, snatching a threatened foot back just in time. "But I don't know what you're talking about!"
"The magic," Reandn said, waving a hand at his ear as though that would make sense to someone else; Sky gave half a rear, balking and close to blowing up. "Turn it off right now."
Farren shook his head, looking baffled, still backing away. "Reandn...I haven't used magic for over half your life span. And even if I was, there's no way you could know—"
"I do know," Reandn said grimly. "I've told you you can't lie to me about it."
Tanager shoved himself between Sky and his grandfather; the horse reared high, and Reandn gave rein, legging the horse forward to land just beside the boy. "Are you stupid?" Tanager shouted, brave if not wise. "There isn't any magic. That's why we have to find out how you got to Maurant!"
By the time Tanager's words had died away into a silence which tingled between Farren and Reandn, the magic had died away as well. Reandn heaved an inward sigh of relief; Sky settled, just as relieved. "Keep it that way," Reandn said coldly, and turned Sky back down the road, unwilling to listen to any argument from the wizard or his grandson.
By tacit agreement, neither mentioned the incident, although Reandn caught the wizard looking at him, contemplating him—and not caring that Reandn usually caught him at it. Reandn warred with the desire to leave the wizard behind—but realized, too, that he could use Farren for his own means.
Because the man knew the city. He knew the people. He probably wouldn't deliberately give Ronsin away, but Reandn thought he could glean information nonetheless.
It made for uneasy travel—several days of hostile silence and unspoken arguments. Their path curved between rolling hills, wavering between due north to northeastward; when afternoon came, the broad leaved trees filled the world with stark changing shadows across and around the road. One minute staring into a shadow, the next blinking against sunlight—Reandn was almost glad when it was his turn to walk, so at least those shadows did not sway with Sky's movement. He led the mule, silent, listening to Farren's responses to Tanager and watching the horse for signs of fatigue.
Tanager's chatter hadn't abated over the days—if anything, the anticipation of seeing Solace had renewed his enthusiasm—no matter that he and Farren were unwanted company. Nor did he seem to notice that his tunic, dangling from his hand in the heat of the day, now tickled Sky's flanks.
Reandn watched bay horseflesh twitch irritably beneath the tickling shirt. "Tana—"
Magic hit him, a surge of it. Struggling, Reandn struggled through the dizzying assault, but not through the rage it produced. He growled, "Farren."
Farren reached back to shush Tanager, although the gesture looked strangely protective as well. "Graces," he breathed, his head lifted in intense attention, "Someone is using—look out!" Even as he spoke, the insidious flow of magic ceased. Farren's hands rose, fingers moving—lips twisting around mumbled words.
Reandn followed his gaze into the sun-and-shadow striped woods, his hand already closing over his boot knife—spotting the woman only when she notched an arrow, her green and brown mottled clothes moving within the leafy shadows. Reandn brought his knife up and threw as she drew the bow.
"Don't kill her!" Farren cried, too late to stop the flash of Reandn's knife. "We need to know—"
Reandn snatched Tanager's shirt and slapped it against Sky's rump with a loud smack. Farren grabbed mane and Tanager grabbed Farren, and they lurched in the saddle as the gelding bolted—head in the air, not to be stopped. The mule only stared in stolid disapproval.
Reandn dropped the shirt and ran into the woods, stooping just long enough to retrieve both his knife and the dying woman's bow and quiver, inspecting the strong shadows beneath the trees, the undergrowth, even above. When there was no sign of movement, he moved further into the woods and climbed a sturdy, forking beech that took him far off the ground.
He set his feet into the forks, he set an arrow to the bowstring, and waited.
Jays sent harsh, sporadic warning cries through the otherwise silent woods. Reandn pressed motionless against the tree, searching the area—step by step, tree by tree, ignoring the drop of sweat tickling along his nose and the sting of it in his eyes. The arrow rested against the bowstring, smooth tipped, grooved and glistening; he grimaced inwardly at the sight of it. Bergren had warned him about such things
.
Something rustled off to his right he twisted to face it, drawing the bow in the same motion. A small, pale man aimed at him; Reandn let the bowstring roll off his fingers and the man went down, his arrow gone wild.
A sudden solid blow thwacked into Reandn's arm from the opposite direction. He grunted with the impact, his footing lost in the shock of it; he fell, losing the bow on the way. He hit the ground with a partial roll, but by then his only thought, his only possible focus, was to stop the fiery pain in his arm. Scrabbling fingers found the shaft and closed around it—he yanked hard, and the headless arrow wrenched free. He flung it away and hunched over the fierce agony—looking up just in time to see the flash of a short curved saber aimed at his head.
Again he rolled, jerking out of the way as the saber flashed past and struck solidly into dirt. Reandn came to his knees and scrambled across the ground, filling his hands with humus and debris and flinging it in his adversary's face, snarling as he bowled right into the man. Lost in savage pain, he killed his attacker three different ways before he even noticed.
He flung himself away from the dead man and lay panting on the ground, trying to think, too full of pain and adrenaline to manage it. And he didn't notice danger until booted feet filled his vision.
Still gulping air, he stared helplessly at the grinning face of yet one more foe. A brutal knee came down on Reandn's throat; another jammed against his chest. He struggled, floundering, one arm useless and the other hand pushing futilely against the knee at his throat. Twisting, flailing...his strength fled and his world darkened.
Until suddenly he could breathe. Air whooped through his bruised throat even as the dead weight of the other man fell across his chest.
Someone heaved the body away. "Are you all right?"
Reandn would have attacked on principle if his body had still been listening to him. But it wasn't, and he only stared stupidly at Farren, every possible curse stuck in his throat and then some.
Touched By Magic (The King's Wolf Saga) Page 16