Ker swallowed and tried to nod. Some part of her had been expecting this. Who else would know whether the man they found was really the prince they were looking for?
“Jakmor Gulder will accompany you, Talent Nast.”
Ker sat up straight, her jaw suddenly tight. Whoever went with her had to be someone of Commander rank or higher, which technically Jak was, being a Kalter, though that didn’t put him in the chain of command.
Wilk Silvertrees cleared his throat, but stayed quiet. He doesn’t like this, Ker thought. I don’t like it myself.
Faro Sweetwater turned to Jak. “You are the highest ranking noble in the Wing, and as such the proper person to deal with a royal personage. I will, of course, choose seasoned veterans to accompany you.”
“Thank you, my Faro.” From the look on his face, Jak understood that this was intended as both reassurance and as a warning that he wasn’t completely in charge. From the way he smiled, Ker saw he was actually quite content.
“A moment, please.” Ker leaned forward. As a Talent she had some privileges, and choosing her own escort was one of them. Jak turned toward her, his eyebrows raised, but Ker kept her own eyes firmly fixed on the Faro. “I’d like to have two particular soldiers included in my escort.”
“Reasonable. And they are?”
“Wynn Martan, the woman who is serving as Boots in the Talents’ rooms. She’s the one who shot Markon Zahlia. She acted immediately to protect me, and I’d feel better if she came along.”
“If I may, my Faro,” Jak interrupted. “As the enemy have difficulty dealing with women, and with female soldiers in particular, would another woman really be the right choice?”
“But—” Ker stopped when the Faro held up a finger.
“As the Talent was no doubt about to point out,” she said dryly. “Societies which have difficulties dealing with women in authority usually also take a dim view of a woman traveling alone with a group of men.”
“And if I may, Faro?” Ker waited until the older woman nodded at her. “Surely none of us will be dressed as soldiers?”
“A good point, Talent Nast. And who is the second person you wish to attend you?”
“Tel Cursar. I’ve traveled with him already,” she added. “We’re used to each other. We’ll be going over some of the same terrain.”
“He’s very tall.” Jak was shaking his head. “He’ll attract attention.”
“If anything, we’ll look less like a group of military personnel if we’re not all a similar regulation height.” Ker turned back to the Faro. “There’s a final point, Faro. How, exactly, do you expect us to get across the Serpents Teeth?”
The corners of Juria Sweetwater’s mouth turned upward. “Oh, I expect you to use the same methods you did the last time.”
“I’m sorry, Faro, but what about—” Ker stopped. Now, at least she could be sure that, just like Tel, she wasn’t able to speak about the Feelers. Not even to refer to them in some indirect way.
“Kerida, what is it?” Jak frowned.
“Talent Nast is concerned for the security of the mine dwellers who aided her on her last passage through the mountain range,” the Faro said. Ker pressed her lips together. How was it that Juria Sweetwater was able to talk about the Feelers? “You will be using the tunnels as their guests, and I would advise you to treat them as you would foreign allies.”
“But who are these people,” Wilk Silvertrees said. “Why have I never heard of them?”
“Few people have, Cohort Leader, and those only who had a need to know.”
She’s not actually lying, Ker thought, watching the stiff faces around the table. And how do I know that?
• • •
Ker shouldn’t have been surprised at how quickly the Faro’s orders were carried out. Stores were canvassed for civilian clothing, and—even more important—civilian weapons. The latter consisted of two staffs, three knives almost long enough to be swords, and two actual short swords which showed enough wear to pass as what they actually were, secondhand military issue. It wouldn’t be unusual for farmers or traders to own such things, even if they weren’t themselves former military.
In the last moment, Jak Gulder added a hunting bow, and three spears, sturdy and serviceable, in about the same condition as the swords.
“We’ll be a hunting party,” he said, though no one had questioned him. Jak himself hardly looked like a soldier at all, once he was out of his military tunic, and into the homespun shirt, earth-colored trousers, and short leather jerkin of a huntsman. His hair was a bit on the short side for fashion, though many professional people wore theirs as short. He could pass as just about anyone, when he remembered not to walk like he owned everything he could see.
They were all clothed fairly easily, except for Tel Cursar, whose height made it a challenge to find him civilian clothes out of their limited stores. He ended up having to wear his own boots and leggings, though trousers, tunic, and shirt were eventually found for him.
Scouts from the fort had reported traffic on the road, and there had continued to be encounters in the woods, though there was no sign of the small force that had asked for Oste’s surrender. Rumor around the cook fires throughout the camp was that they were occupying Pudova, the closest Polity town. Nevertheless, Ker’s group took advantage of a late moon to leave the fort, going quietly by the rear gate. They’d decided to travel as much as they could across country, more or less retracing the trail Ker and Tel had used to reach the camp. Ker was more than a little relieved by this. Keeping off the road meant they’d be avoiding enemy patrols, and it also meant she wouldn’t have to pass the ruins of Temlin Hall again.
Ker quickly realized that Jak Gulder had been long enough with the Bears to become accustomed to the rough military life, and that he’d spent enough time actually hunting to know how to live off the land. In fact, the Kalter was treating their expedition as if they were a hunting group, professionals hired by villages—and even on occasion the military—to supply meat or deal with an unexpected predator. After the first morning, Ker was sure the man was secretly enjoying himself.
Though Jak was nominally in command, Wynn was the only soldier who had served less time than he had. Along with Tel Cursar, there was Nate Primo, a Second Officer in the Pearl Cohort of Eagles, and Fed Durk, a veteran Barrack leader in the Ruby Cohort of Bears. Jak listened to them both, and deferred to their advice, but in particular to Nate Primo. The officer began by offering an immediate suggestion.
“If I may, best if we don’t use our ranks.”
Jak was silent a long minute as he chewed this over. “Quite right, Nate,” he said finally. “It’s that kind of habit that could give us away.”
“It would be all right for us to say ‘sir’ to you,” Nate pointed out. “Someone has to lead, and you’re obviously it.” As professional hunters, they’d have some sort of hierarchy, someone who would literally call the shots, even if they were too informal to have ranks.
“In response, perhaps,” Jak said. “But in addressing me, use Jak.”
“Yes, sir,” Wynn said. All the soldiers’ grins were gone by the time Jak glanced around.
“Don’t know why we’re being so careful with our story,” Wynn said to Ker after Jak had gone over it with them yet again. “I thought we’d be avoiding people.”
“Sure,” Tel agreed. “But what if we’re unlucky? It’s better to be ready with a story, not trying to come up with something at the last minute. Hunting’s a good cover, it explains why we’d be traveling, and why we’re armed.”
They settled very quickly into a routine, with Nate and Fed taking turns at the front and rear positions. They acted as scouts, and also flushed out small game for Wynn’s arrows, rabbits for the most part. It was, Ker realized, the kind of formation that any travelers would use when in an unfamiliar place.
It was on the second day th
at Fed Durk came back to say they’d reached the edge of some cleared land.
“That’ll be the farmer we stopped at on our way to Oste,” Ker said.
“You go, Tel,” Jak said. “The rest of us will wait here, out of sight. See if they have news since you’ve been here, or if we can give them some.”
Tel Cursar trotted along the edge of the forest holding’s small field, his spear balanced on his shoulder, butt forward, in what he hoped was a nonthreatening manner. Hay stubble showed stiff and pale through what was left of the last snow fall. It was a pleasure to be alone at first, but soon he found himself feeling exposed. Somehow, the wind was colder out here in the open.
When they’d passed this way before, he and Ker had come and gone in the darkness, and this was the first clear view Tel had of the homestead. He’d seen plenty of holdings like this in Orrin, cut out of old forest. There was the small living quarters with its thick log walls, the cow shed butted up against one side, with low openings for the hens to come and go from the warm interior. It was early enough in the season that the two small hayricks behind the dwelling were barely touched.
He knew something was wrong as soon as he got within earshot of the buildings. He slowed and shifted his grip on the spear, turning it business end forward. Last time, he and Ker hadn’t gotten this close before the household dogs had started up. Now there was nothing except the sound of his own footsteps, light and careful on the crust of snow. Tel stood still, turning his head slowly from side to side, trying to pick up any sound, any smell that could give him a clue as to what had gone wrong. Then he realized that the wood smoke he should have smelled wasn’t there.
He shortened his grip on the spear and crept to the door. Last time they’d called out, giving the people within a warning, but now he kept silent. He stretched out his free hand, stuck his fingers through the opening, and lifted the latch. The door swung open on its own.
The interior was a single room, with the hearth in the center built up out of good flat stones that had come out of the fields, mortared with mud and hardened clay. The fire was out, and judging from the coldness of the ashes, had been out at least two days.
Lack of a fire in this weather was enough to let Tel know that something serious had happened. A screen neatly woven of strips of leather and osiers marked off the bed of the farmer and her husband. Off to one side of the main room was his mother’s bed, and that of the two children. There was the old lady’s chair—the only one with arms—closest to the fire. Next to it the wife’s chair, and three stools, all drawn up close to the edge of the hearth. All neat, all tidy. All empty.
He thought he was already prepared for the worst, but when he saw the small shrine to the household gods overturned and trampled, the white-painted image of the Mother completely smashed, his stomach sank. Like most people his age, Tel took his piety for granted. Maybe he’d feel differently about it when he was old enough to be the one making the observances, but until now he’d made his responses with the same carefree attitude he’d had since he was a child.
He squatted down and touched what was left of the Mother’s statuette. The man at the gate had spoken of ending the rule of women.
He found them in the cow shed. Other than their cut throats, they’d had no violence done to them. Soldiers, then; not bandits or wild men. Tel squatted down next to the farmer and touched the man’s shoulder. It was stiff and hard.
“This is going to smell really badly when the spring comes,” he said. He was a little surprised that his voice sounded so normal; he didn’t know if that was good or bad. He closed the cow shed door behind him and headed back for the forest. On the way he realized he might know the men who had done this.
Or at least, who they used to be.
Ker’s face, when he got back and told them, was as white as he’d ever seen it, so white her eyes looked like smudges of charcoal.
“Talent Nast,” Jak Gulder said. “Do you think—”
“No.” Ker’s voice was as tight as a noose. “I don’t think.” She took a deep breath and blinked rapidly. “There’s nothing to be learned here.”
ALMOST a week later they were squatting just to the east of the road, staring down at a map sketched in the dirt.
“Here’s where we are,” Jak was saying. “We could go around these hills to a valley that parallels this one.” He looked around. “From there, we should be able to access the mine opening Tel and Kerida used.”
“Should be isn’t will be,” Nate pointed out.
Jak nodded. “That’s why I suggest we take the road instead. It’s risky, but it’s surer, and it will take a deal less time.” Tel’s discovery at the farm had given them all an increased sense of urgency.
Nate gave the deciding vote. “A few hours on the road, compared to a few days going around and maybe we can’t get to the entrance after all? Not much of a choice, is it?”
And so they all thought, right up until the moment they heard the sound of hoofbeats and saw, ahead of them, a small group of mounted men.
“If we’ve seen them, they’ve seen us.” Wynn said aloud what everyone was thinking, but no one wanted to hear.
“Spread out, slouch.” Jak kept his voice from carrying. “Try to look less like soldiers.”
Fortunately, they’d just been changing their order of march, so it was easy for them to look like a random group of people walking along the road. Ker saw Wynn glance at the bow Tel Cursar was carrying. The young woman was the best shot among them, but without any way to know how far this female prejudice went, Jak had decided not to risk having either woman carry obvious weapons on the road. Apart from the knife every adult in the Polity carried, they were unarmed.
“What should we do?”
“Keep walking,” Jak said. “Innocent people wouldn’t have reason to leave the road. It’s all right to check your weapons, anyone would. When they get close enough, we’ll do what the Wings expect any nonmilitary to do—get off the road and look respectful. They might go right past us.”
Though, after what Tel had seen at the farm, no one expected that.
“If it comes to it, I’ll do the talking.”
Ker nodded and fell into step between Wynn and Tel. The group of soldiers, no more than half a Barrack, were trotting along in good, disciplined formation, not like the bunch she and Tel had run into on their way to the fort. When they got close enough Ker saw that, discipline or not, some wore the green tunics of Eagles, and others the purple of the Bears.
Tel stiffened abruptly, and Ker hissed at him. The last thing they needed was for him to stand up straight and have either the movement or his height draw any attention. Tel relaxed finally, slouching his shoulders a little more. Without his helmet or military tunic, and with his hair so long, Tel didn’t look much like a soldier. But would it be enough to fool someone who had known him?
Jak was walking in front and, without signaling in any way, simply led them off into the ditch beside the road before the soldiers reached them. He continued leading them forward, raising his hand in a casual acknowledgment as the patrol drew even with them.
The soldiers gave them a couple of sideways glances as they went by. Ker was beginning to relax when the officer at the rear of the group did a double take as he passed Jak.
“Gulder? Jak Gulder? Is that you?” The man signaled to his Barrack, who slowed but kept moving.
Jak also stopped, but as they’d been told, the rest of them went past him before coming raggedly to a standstill, trying to look like people more interested in reaching their destination and their dinners than people bracing for a fight.
Though what they could do against half a Barrack of soldiers, Ker didn’t know.
“Eoro Zalen? It can’t be,” Jak said. “Nobody’s skinned you alive yet?” And he laughed, he actually laughed, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Ker, meanwhile, did her best to look bored and exhausted,
exactly what young people would look like when oldsters were yammering.
The officer grinned and leaned out of his saddle to grasp Jak’s offered wrist. “What are you doing here, you old wolf? Last I heard you were joining Bear Wing.”
“There was talk of it, but you know my father; he changed his mind. I’ve been up here in Bascat hunting deer. Got caught by the snow.”
The other man was nodding even before Jak had finished. “Your father will be finding things a bit more to his liking now, I imagine.” He fixed Jak with a hard eye. “Where are you coming from, and what have you heard about doings in the Peninsula?”
Jak shrugged. “Plenty of rumors, that’s certain. We’re working our way back from Sontan Village. Thought we’d wait at the Hall until the pass clears.”
Ker tensed, but if they’d really been away where Jak said they were, they wouldn’t know about the Hall.
Eoro Zalen nodded, but still with the same hard look in his eye. “Don’t bother stopping there,” he said, raising his hand as if he thought Jak was going to interrupt him. “What if I was to tell you the Luqs is gone,” he said. “Gone, and the rule of women with her. Especially those witches in the Halls.”
“What?” Now Jak’s voice had an edge to it as well, though Ker was impressed at how well he faked surprised outrage. “The Luqs is dead? What’s happened?”
“Our brothers from across the sea is what’s happened. You of all people must know the witches were never to be trusted, with their uncanny ways. They’ve been secretly running the country for ages, keeping us men down. We’re going back to the old days, taking power for ourselves, and putting it into the hands of a council of men.”
Ker tried hard to keep looking bored, as though she wasn’t paying attention. Surely that wasn’t right? Surely, even before Jurianol became the first Luqs, there had been both men and women on the council? And there’d been Talents and Halls for that matter.
Halls of Law Page 25