by Deborah Hale
Slowly, Maura fought her way to the courtyard wall where the turmoil was least. She cast a glace about for some sign of Rath’s passing, but saw none. What would they do now? How would they find one another in such a vast place, with both of them invisible?
They must not waste time trying, she decided reluctantly. If they did not get as far out of the reach of Vang’s men as possible before they became visible again, everything they had done and risked would be in vain.
She must head toward the Long Vale and follow it to Prum. If she and Rath met up later on the road, she could thank him then. She had no great hopes that would happen, however. Having provided her with this means of escape, surely Rath would consider his debt to her paid and return to his old life.
Edging her way toward one of the courtyard entrance arches, Maura told herself that would be best... for both of them.
She took another step toward the entryway... or tried to. But some force held her back. A large, warm force. One that smelled of leather, sweat and smoke.
“Rath?” she whispered, raising her invisible hand to his invisible face.
“Who else?” The jaunty murmur of his voice reached out of nowhere and wrapped around her.
Tears flooded Maura’s eyes. Some shred of sense warned her to blink them back so they did not wash away the cuddybird spell. But she was too overcome with joy and relief to heed it.
Before she had time to think what she was doing, her hand followed the rugged edge of Rath’s jaw to slip around his neck and pull his face toward hers. They blundered together with only touch to guide them, until her lips found his.
They pressed together... parted... tasted... clung, while stifled sobs quaked through Maura. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight to him for what seemed the longest, sweetest time. At last his lips left hers, roving over her cheek until they reached her ear.
“This will have to wait.” His regretful whisper was not much louder than a breath. “There is something I must do. Get away from here. Make your way west. Visible or not, I will be able to track you.”
Maura angled her face to bring her lips close to his ear. “Can I not stay with you? You may need me.”
Though he did not speak or make any movement, she sensed his refusal.
“I helped you just now,” she reminded him, “against Turgen.”
She felt his hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair, and his brow pressed to hers. “So you did, and well, too. But two of us together are twice as likely to be noticed around here, even if we are invisible. Besides, even when I cannot see you, you distract me worse than I can afford.”
He clutched her in one final fierce embrace then pushed her toward the nearest archway which was, for the moment, empty of outlaws. “Go!”
Maura did not wait for a more mannerly invitation. She slipped through the arch and cautiously made her way out of the bandits’ lair. Then she ran as fast as her legs would carry her in what she desperately hoped was the right direction.
“So tell me,” said Maura when she and Rath stopped to rest that evening and they were both fully visible again, “how did you come by the cuddybird feathers? And why did you insist on fighting Turgen instead of Vang?”
They’d had little opportunity or energy for explanations after fleeing Aldwood on a horse Rath had taken from the outlaws. He’d assured Maura the beast was not stolen, only traded for their pack pony. He wondered what she would say when he showed her what he’d traded for their pilfered supplies?
“The feathers? From your sash, of course.” Rath knelt at the edge of a narrow brook and refilled his drink skin.
After a quick swig, he handed it to Maura. “That was part of the bargain I made with Vang.”
He leaned back on the grass and rubbed his jaw where Turgen had struck him. Though it ached fiercely, it did not feel broken. His back and belly pained, too, where Turgen had butted him into the wall.
Once Maura had drunk her fill, she poured some of the water on her hand and splashed it on her face. “What bargain?”
Before Rath could answer, she glanced at his face and winced. “Let me look at that. Where else are you hurt?”
While she knelt beside him, examining his bruised face with a tender touch, Rath tried to make light of it. “Don’t fret yourself. I have come off far worse than this in fights over the years. Who knows what kind of a bloody pulp I would be now if I had fought Vang. And I would have fought him, if it had not been for you.”
He retrieved the water flask from Maura and took another, longer drink. “After you bid me use my wits instead of my blade, I did some thinking. It came to me that if I beat Vang, I’d have to take his place, which wasn’t what I wanted. So I had a little talk with the Spear of Heaven, this morning. I told him he might well trounce me, but not without taking a fair beating that would leave him weakened for another challenge.”
Maura had listened to him with her brow furrowed. Now those creases smoothed out and her eyes widened. “From... Turgen?”
“Aye, from Turgen.” Rath grinned. “I had overheard a thing or two about him, and I have seen plenty of his ilk over the years. Biding his time to oust the chief. He must have rubbed his hands with glee after I challenged Vang.”
“So you told Vang you would fight Turgen, instead? I wondered why he did not look more surprised when you switched your challenge.”
Rath nodded. “Vang is no fool. He knows he is not getting any younger, and I think he has been wary of Turgen for a while. In exchange for teaching Turgen a lesson, I made Vang give me a little something from that sash of yours, though I did not tell him what it would do.”
“That was clever.” Maura’s eyes shone with such ardent admiration, it made Rath squirm. “I knew you could think of something if you put your mind to it.”
Against hostility or scorn he was on firm ground, armed and ready to give as good as he got. He had almost no experience of honor and respect. Like so many other pleasant but unfamiliar sensations, they put him on his guard.
“Just do not expect me to find a sly solution for every bit of trouble we meet between here and Prum.”
She gave a little start. “You still mean to come with me?”
“Unless you do not want me.” Rath tried to sound as if it did not matter a great deal either way. “I don’t reckon I will be any more welcome in Aldwood, for a while, than I am in Norest. Might as well push south, and since you are headed that way, too, it makes sense for us to travel together.”
For a moment, Maura pressed her lips together, thinking. Then she nodded. “It does make sense. And I have no objection—quite the contrary. I only hope you do not still feel obligated to me.”
“Rest easy.” Rath flexed his jaw then made a wry face. “I count my debt paid to the last copper.”
In spite of that, his compulsion to go with Maura had not diminished. Rath understood it less than ever. Perhaps it was no more than what he had told her—the prudence of two people travelling in the same direction to stick together. The lass had proven herself handy to have around in a pinch.
“What are you chuckling about?” Maura asked.
Rath had not realized he was chuckling. “Just recollecting how you jumped up and slung that rope around Turgen’s neck. I do not know who you took more by surprise, him or me. I almost forgot to toss those feathers.”
He laughed harder just thinking of it, then let out a hiss of pain as his stomach muscles protested.
Maura reached to pull open his vest. When Rath tried to slap her hand away, she slapped his back. “Let me see! There is not much I can do without my sash, but perhaps I can find some fresh herbs hereabouts to make you a poultice.”
“Who says you do not have your sash?” Rath pulled his vest open to reveal the wide, pocketed strip of leather. “I think I should get one made for myself, to hold extra weapons, flint and such. It could be quite useful.”
“You have it!” Maura cried, running her hand over the sash as if to prove to herself it was real. �
��Was this what you went back for?”
“It’s even been repaired where Vang tore it!” A sob ripped through her excited laughter. “Thank you!”
She hid her face with her hand for a moment until she had composed herself.
Rath battled the urge to take her in his arms. If he did, he feared he would also surrender to the impulse to kiss her again. And that would be a mistake.
“I am sorry.” Maura wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her tunic. “I didn’t mean to blubber. I do not know what came over me. It is like having a bit of Langbard back, somehow.”
So much had happened in the past week, Windleford and Langbard’s death seemed far in the past. Yet hearing Maura speak his name made Rath recall how fresh her bereavement was. Since he had forgotten anything Ganny might have taught him about offering comfort, he settled for trying to lighten the moment.
“Did you think I would leave something so valuable in Vang’s possession?” He pretended to look severe. “Especially since he would not have the first notion how to use it.”
“Since you went to the trouble of recovering my sash,” said Maura, “you had better let me use what is in it to tend your injuries. Off with your vest and shirt, now, like a good fellow. I want to see what I’m doing and the light is fading fast.”
She soon had him stretched out flat on the grass, stripped of the sash and his upper garments while she probed his badly bruised abdomen with a gentle touch that tormented Rath equally between pain and pleasure.
“Your pardon!” she cried when he clenched his teeth and sweat broke out on his brow. “I did not mean to hurt you.”
“Whatever you’re doing,” he grumbled, “do it quick and be done before I freeze.” Small fear of that!
“You need a poultice of winterwort to draw the bruises.” Maura spoke in the cool, practical tone of a woman who never guessed the effect she had on him. “Then a brew of laceweed to work from the inside in case of bleeding.”
She took some dried herbs from one of the sash pockets, then mixed them in her palm with a bit of water from the brook. Rath flinched when she smeared the cold compound on the flesh of his belly. After she bound it with a roll of linen from another pocket of the sash she helped him back into his shirt and vest.
“I wish we could make a fire to mull the tonic.” Maura rummaged in her sash again. “But I suppose we dare not.”
Rath shook his head. “No more fires until we get safely to Prum.”
“It will not be a pleasant journey.” Maura put a pinch of three different herbs into Rath’s drink skin, then shook it. “We have a horse with no saddle or harness, a sash with a fast dwindling stock of magical ingredients, no food, and no fire.”
She heaved a sigh as she handed the flask to Rath. He took a great swig, then battled to keep from spewing it out again. A few moments later, his pain began to ease enough to make him brave another taste. Prepared, this time, for the strong, strange flavor, he found it more tolerable. By the time he’d drained the flask, he thought it jolly fine stuff.
“Do not fret.” He clapped a heavy hand on Maura’s shoulder. His tongue felt thick and lazy. He had to work hard to keep his words from slurring. “Once we reach the Long Vale, we will be fine.”
He fumbled on his belt for a small pouch. When he shook it, the coins inside jingled. “A parting gift from Vang Spear of Heaven.”
The sky had grown too dark and his eyes too heavy for him to make out the expression on Maura’s face. Would it be a stern frown, he wondered, heralding an equally stern lecture on the evils of thievery? Well, what did she expect? He was an outlaw. What was more he had never claimed to be anything else.
To his surprise, Maura only chuckled. “Langbard said you were resourceful.”
The unexpected approval in her voice, and the endorsement of the old wizard brought Rath closer to tears than he had ever been since Ganny’s death. Or perhaps it was that potion of Maura’s that made him maudlin.
“Well,” said Maura when he did not reply, “since we cannot have a fire, may I at least curl up near you to sleep?”
He wanted to tell her it might be better for both of them if she kept her distance. Instead he heard himself say, “Do as you like.”
Perhaps his tone betrayed his misgivings. For when Maura nestled close to him, she whispered. “Just for warmth, truly! That... kiss... after you fought Turgen. I did not mean...”
“Nor I!” Rath shook his head vigorously. “I have seen such things before, after danger passes. There comes a moment of relief so fierce, it is like madness. Once, after I outran a Hanish patrol, I jumped off the edge of a waterfall.”
“You did?” Maura’s tone held a hint of doubtful amusement. The tension in her body eased and she edged closer to him.
“Truly. I could have done myself more harm than the Han might ever have done me. Folk are not responsible for the fool things they do or say at times like that.”
“I suppose not.” Rath could picture Maura smiling over his old folly and their recent one.
“So you need not fret that I will say anything about it to... your bridegroom when we reach Prum.”
What sort of man had Maura’s aunt contracted for her? Rath wondered as a warm, wholesome drowsiness stole over him. Young? Old? Poor? Prosperous? A young wizard, perhaps, or a scholar of the Elderways?
One thing Rath knew for certain about this unknown fellow.
He was a very lucky man.
Chapter Thirteen
“YOU WERE LUCKY to escape with no worse injuries,” said Maura the next morning as she applied a fresh poultice to Rath’s bruised belly. “How does it feel?”
He glanced down at the angry purple marks on his abdomen. “Not as bad as it looks, luckily. The emptiness inside pains me almost as bad. I wish I had thought to steal some food along with your sash and the coins.”
Maura finished binding the fresh poultice in place. “I will make us up a little draft to drink before we start on our way. It will not be the same as a filling meal, but it should refresh us until we can find somewhere to buy food.”
“If my reckoning is right, a steady day’s ride should bring us to the Long Vale.” Rath put his shirt and vest back on and wrapped his cloak tight against the cool morning air that promised to warm as the sun rose higher. “Can you not put some of that poultice on your face? I do not want folks who see us to think I... did that.”
Beneath his gruff tone, Maura detected a hint of tenderness. “It is hard to bind a poultice on the face.” She chuckled. “Besides, if folks see the bruises on your jaw, they may think I gave you back worse than you gave me.”
After sharing the draft she had prepared, they scrambled onto the mare’s broad back and continued westward. True to Rath’s prediction, they reached the Long Vale before sunset. Soon after, they came to a village that made Maura homesick for Windleford.
They stopped at a small inn on the edge of town where they ordered a meal. It was plain fare, but plentiful and tasty—fresh bread, a mild sweet cheese for which the Long Vale was famed, and a hot, filling dish of ham and red cabbage with dumplings.
“This was almost worth going hungry for.” Maura sat back from her empty bowl with a contented sigh. “It is so good to eat at a proper table again.”
Working his way through his second large helping of ham and cabbage, Rath shrugged. “To me, eating at a table seems odd. Though I reckon I could get to like it.”
While he continued to eat with single-minded diligence, Maura watched him with an oddly possessive curiosity. For many years he had lived and thrived on the kind of existence they had shared during the past week. The danger, the hardship, and the constant movement had quickly lost all charm for her—not that they had held much to begin with.
More than ever, she admired Rath Talward for holding on to his courage, his humor and the essential decency of character he tried so hard to hide from a world that might exploit it as weakness.
When the innkeeper came to present their bill, Rath asked, “
Where might we find a saddler in your fine village?”
“A saddler, goodmaster?” The innkeeper scratched his prominent chin. “Why, there is none nearer than Folkin’s Mills, a good many miles south through the Vale. Is it tack you’re wanting? For I have a pair of saddles and some stray bits of harness I could make you a good price on.”
When Rath and Maura exchanged a look, he hastened to explain. “Now and then, folks stop here without the coin for food and lodgings, so I take whatever they have in trade.”
His bushy brows knit together. “How do you come to have a horse, but no saddle or harness?”
Maura braced herself for whatever clever story Rath would invent to explain their situation. While their safety might well depend upon such convincing falsehoods, it troubled to pave her path to the Waiting King with lies.
“Now there is a tale.” Rath flashed the innkeeper his most roguish grin. “I reckon you have heard of the outlaw, Vang?”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Few folk ’round these parts who have not, goodmaster. Did his men make off with your gear?”
“Not quite. We stole the horse from them!” Rath slapped his palm on the table and let out a bellow of laughter, in which the innkeeper joined. “We did not think it wise to hang about their camp searching for a saddle.”
“I should think not.” The innkeeper laughed until Maura feared he would burst his apron.
When Rath paid for their dinner the man jingled the coins in his hand, still chortling. “I suppose you lifted this lot from Vang, too, and got your bruises from his men?”
“So we did.” Rath winked. “Though we left them in worse shape than they left us. Now if you will oblige us with a look at those saddles, I shall be pleased to put more of Vang’s horde into your hands.”
The innkeeper wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “A tale like that is almost worth the price of a saddle, young master.”