“Horses have to be fed, watered, rested,” Ker pointed out. “We can eat on the march, providing we find food. They can’t. Riding is less tiring than walking, but faster?” She twisted her lips to one side as she shook her head. “Depends on who’s doing the walking.”
“If it comes to that, we won’t be able to keep up a marching pace ourselves, if we have to stay off the roads and hunt as we go,” Wynn pointed out.
“Wait, though.” Ker thought a moment longer. “If we take the horses for part of the way, we’ll get a head start, and we’ll prevent them from being able to follow us immediately.”
Wynn smiled. “And we’ll let them go when we can’t feed them.”
“If we go cross-country, as the crow flies, that in itself buys us time, right?” Jerek looked from one to the other.
Sala was shaking her head, but not as though she disagreed. “I’d have to see the stars, check where we are, exactly, with respect to the mine.” She looked at Ker through narrowed eyes. “Unless you could tell us which way to go.”
“Me? On a good day, with the Daughter’s help, I can tell my right from my left, but north from east?” Ker shook her head.
“Really? You can’t touch the ground and Flash our direction?”
Ker blinked, and felt her cheeks grow hot. She hadn’t thought of that. Talents were used to find lost children, and lost objects, even to locate water for new wells, to say nothing of precious metals and other valuables hidden by earth or sea. Finding a place? That’s what roads were for.
“Why not,” she said finally. “Wynn, how’s that rope coming along?”
“Ready as soon as you are. Thank you, my Faro,” she said as Jerek handed her a cord he’d rolled from a strip of torn sheet. Wynn looked up when the silence continued. “What? The Luqs is the Faro of Eagles, and he’s the Luqs, and I’m an Eagle.”
Sala: Dersay, wake up!
Dersay: Go away, it can’t be morning yet.
Sala: May griffins eat you and crap you out in tiny pellets. DERSAY! Open your eyes and sit up.
Dersay: What can you possibly need to tell me now? You’ve found the prince, the Halians have found the prince, you’re locked up. We already know and people are coming to help you. Let me sleep, I’ve got mushroom duty in the morning.
Sala: Never mind mushrooms, we’re escaping now. She could feel the other woman snapping alert and sitting up.
Dersay: You clever girl. How long will it take you to get back?
Sala: There’s more. We don’t have the prince, but we have his son.
WITHOUT Jerek, crossing to the stables in the overcast and moonless night would have been considerably more difficult. To say nothing of the dogs who came, snuffling and wagging tails, as they approached the dark corner of the stable. Wynn helped Jerek slide the heavy door across as silently as they could. Ker had Flashed they were alone in the courtyard, but that didn’t stop sound from carrying.
Once inside the building, Jerek struck the lamp, placing it where it couldn’t be seen from the outside. Ker grinned. It seemed this wasn’t the first nocturnal adventure in the boy’s life. A tall gray horse stuck his curious nose over the low wall of his stall, blinking sleepily.
“Where are the weapons, boy?” Sala hefted a splitting ax she’d found by the door.
“Through here.” Jerek plucked a stub of candle from a basket under the lamp, lit it, and led the Feeler down the central space between the stalls to an enclosed area built into the rear wall of the stable. Ker beckoned Wynn over to the stall holding the curious gray.
“Get this fellow out and get him saddled,” she said. “And I’ll see what else we’ve got.” Of the two other horses near the door, one looked more like a packhorse than a lord’s mount, but Kerida thought it would do just fine. Beyond them, however, were three more riding horses, all showing military marks on their shoulders.
“My pony’s in there as well.” Jerek appeared at her elbow, still carrying the candle.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to take him,” Ker said. The boy’s eyebrows lifted, then he nodded, his lips set in a line.
“That gray can carry Sala, you can take the roan, Wynn that big-eared fellow, and I’ll take this nice chestnut.”
“These three aren’t ours,” Jerek said.
Ker shrugged. “I imagine they explain how Jak Gulder got here.”
“More mounts than we need.” Sala reappeared out of the darkness. She handed Wynn an elderly but well-kept ash bow, with a quiver holding half a dozen arrows. An equally worn but serviceable sword she kept for herself.
“And we’re taking the extra ones with us, remember, to slow down pursuit,” Ker said.
Small as she was, Wynn needed no help clambering up onto her horse, and Jerek was up on the roan in an eyeblink. Ker mounted the chestnut, and took up the leads of the extra horses. Sala wrapped the gray’s rein around her forearm, and positioned herself at the lamp, ready to pinch out the wick.
“Don’t move, any of you, until you see the door is well open.”
The light went out, and Ker heard Sala moving the door aside on its wooden rollers. In moments she could make out the paler darkness of the opening, blocked only slightly as Wynn rode through with Jerek after her. Ker followed, clucking softly to the two horses she was leading. Sala would bring up the rear. Wynn led them left, heading toward the road. Shod hooves clicked on the cobblestones, and Ker gritted her teeth.
Suddenly Sala’s horse screamed and reared, slipping and bringing them both down. The courtyard, empty only a moment before, filled with men. Ker dodged a staff swinging at her head more by instinct than cunning and, shouting at Wynn and Jerek to go, urged her own horse forward. She was immediately blocked by two men with staves, and a third man with a sword. She ducked again, pulled her horse’s head to the left, and felt it start to go down.
She twisted just enough to land on her shoulder instead of her elbow, but not enough to get herself out from under the horse. Fortunately, it scrambled to its feet without stepping on her, though she was left lying completely winded. Arms raised to protect her head from flying feet and hooves, she’d just managed to suck in some air when the end of a staff swung past her face and she grabbed it, pulling and jerking it sideways at the same time.
Before she could use it, however, she was kicked from behind, and a shard of agony knifed through her back as her vision darkened. She lost hold of the staff, but managed to push herself to her hands and knees. Where was Sala, or Wynn? She was completely turned around, and raising her head to look only got her a view of boots, leather-covered legs and the swinging ends of staffs. Blinking didn’t clear her eyes, and Ker was afraid to shake her head.
She tried to grab another staff as it passed by her, but only succeeded in losing what little balance she had left and hitting the ground with her face. She stayed down, and took a couple of deep breaths. She was pushing herself again to her knees, looking around for Jerek, and didn’t see the bootheel that caught her in the temple.
• • •
The next thing Ker knew, someone was pressing a cool, wet cloth to the side of her face. It hurt and felt good at the same time. She was lying on something hard, and there was the smell of fresh straw, dried blood, and something less pleasant. The water moistening her lips didn’t do much for the metallic taste of blood in the back of her throat. She opened her eyes, a light stabbed at them, and she closed them again.
“Kerida? How do you feel?”
Sala. The Feeler. They were still together, then. And alive.
Ker cleared her throat and gasped at a stab of pain in her side. “My head’s banging like a gong, and I think my ribs are cracked. Other than that, I feel wonderful.” She managed to push the words out between lips that felt thick as pillows. The left side of her face was stiff and painful. She probed her teeth with her tongue. A little loose, but she didn’t think she’d lose any.
“Jerek?” she said. She’d ask about Wynn in a minute.
“He’s right here.” That was Wynn.
Ker squinted. The girl’s right eye was blackened and swollen shut, her lower lip was split. Oddly, however, her nose looked straighter than it had before.
As if she knew what Ker was thinking, Wynn grinned, wincing as she put her fingers to her split lip. “You don’t look so good yourself,” she said, the words slurring a little.
“You’re supposed to say, ‘You should see the other guy,’” Ker said.
Wynn covered her mouth and waved her hand. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Ker squinted against the early morning light. They weren’t back in the tower room. They’d been closed into the large box stall that had held the packhorse and the pony. The wooden half-door was closed, but the main doors of the stable were open, letting in light and cold, fresh air. The straw she was lying in was fresh, but the stall hadn’t been cleaned out before the fresh straw was thrown in. That accounted for the smells.
Ker gasped as a muscle in her back seized, panted as Wynn jabbed in her thumbs to loosen it. Jerek, a bruise forming on his cheek, stood over in the other corner rubbing an elbow as if he didn’t know he was doing it. Ker swallowed, blinked, and swallowed again, as her stomach twisted. “Jerek,” she said, and stopped, unsure what she had intended to say.
“I’m all right,” he said, his face like stone.
“Good.” She made her tone brisk. “Any sign of Tel?”
“Nothing,” Sala said, “and no one’s answering questions.”
Ker lifted her head and raised a finger to quiet them.
“What questions would those be?” said a voice from above their heads. Jak Gulder, leaning with his forearms on the top of the stall boardings, smiled down at them.
Ker struggled to her feet, gritting her teeth against the pain in her side. She wasn’t going to let Jak look down on her. “Where’s Tel Cursar? What have you done with him?”
“I’m keeping him a safe distance from you, my dear.” Jak’s smile broadened. “And speaking of keeping things, it doesn’t seem that His Highness’ home is a very good place to keep prisoners, so you and your companions will be getting a chance to ride those horses after all, though I don’t think we’ll be taking you where you meant to go.”
• • •
For a while all they’d heard was the sounds of horses being led out into the yard, the jingling of harness, and the voices of the men. Jerek heard the packhorse’s familiar snort as she was led into the sunlight. She was all right once outside, but she’d never liked the idea of leaving the stable. Finally, footsteps approached the stall they were in.
Jerek got to his feet, holding himself as stiffly as possible, so Kerida wouldn’t see him trembling. As if she read his thoughts, she moved closer and put an arm around his shoulder. “It’ll be all right,” she said. “You’ll see.” Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were grim.
Jerek hoped his nod was convincing, but his neck was awfully stiff.
Bolts were thrown, and Jerek started. Ker’s arm tightened, holding him back. A thickset man with a thin upper lip stood in the open doorway, with two of his father’s new men behind him.
“You’ll come with me if you please,” the soldier said. Jerek knew that tone. That was the tone of a grown-up who wasn’t going to stand for any nonsense.
Ker released him, after giving him a final squeeze. “Not like we have much choice,” she muttered as they followed the man out of the stables and into the sun-brightened courtyard. Four other men closed in around them as they emerged. The horses were ready, and Fogtail had been saddled along with them. It looked like he was going to be riding him after all.
Jerek stroked the pony’s nose, but didn’t trust himself to speak, not even when the old beast nudged him hard enough to make him take a step back.
“Up you get, boy.” This was the other soldier, the taller, bearded one. He and Thinlip must have come last night with Jak Gulder.
When Jerek didn’t move right away, Tallbeard sighed and reached for him with the hand that wasn’t holding his sword. Jerek drew away, swinging himself up into Fogtail’s saddle before the man could touch him. When he leaned forward for the reins, however, Tallbeard was before him, tossing them to Thinlip, who was already mounted.
One of his father’s new men, the blond with the silver rings threaded through the edges of his ears, was watching, and when Jerek looked at him, he smirked. Jerek turned away in time to see two crossbowmen just lowering their weapons and coming forward to their own mounts.
“So much for trying to grab the horses and escape,” Ker said aloud.
“It would be touch and go who the bowmen might have hit, the way they’ve got us all bunched up.” Sala looked around her with eyebrows raised, and Wynn snickered. Jerek felt his spirits lighten.
Once everyone was mounted, Jak Gulder came around to take a survey of them all. He smiled down at Jerek from the back of his chestnut horse, glanced over at Ker, and back again. “I can see how you could be carried away with the adventure of it all, Lord Brightwing,” he said. “I shouldn’t, but I’m willing to leave you here with your people.”
Jerek looked beyond the circle of horses and guards. The man who had been his father was talking to the man in the silver earrings; he wasn’t even looking this way. Of the few staff who had come out to see them off, there was only one familiar face. Even if he didn’t understand how important it was to the Polity that he reach the Battle Wings, he was sure he didn’t want to stay here.
“None of these are my people,” he said finally.
• • •
The day was crisp, but warm enough, now that the sun was well up. Ker was painfully stiff, and from the way her jaw felt, she hoped they’d be given something soft to eat. At least her breathing was better, and she thought her cracked ribs might be only bruised after all. Her headache was beginning to clear in the fresh air.
Though she’d been looking for him since they’d been let out of the stables, it wasn’t until they reached the main road that Ker finally saw Tel, riding next to Jak, just in front of Dern Firoxi and the attendants the new prince had brought with him from the holding. No women, but by now that didn’t surprise her.
When Tel turned to look back, the movement caught her eye. She knew the moment he’d seen her from the way he held still, chin lifted. Then he turned to face front, without looking back again. He’d looked around only to find her. Ker realized she was smiling and brought her face under control.
Jak held them to such a good pace that Ker hoped the horses knew the road. Her feet had been firmly tied to her stirrups, her hands to the pommel of the saddle. If the horse went down, she’d go down with it. The reins were held by the man riding just half a horse length in front of her. Even with her hands tied, if she’d had hold of them, she could have escaped.
She glanced aside to where Jerek rode, his back straight, his knees and heels tucked in. He looked ready to be examined by his riding instructor, despite the bouncing of the pony as it tried to keep up the pace. A guard held Jerek’s reins, too, though the boy didn’t seem to be bound in any way. No one really thought he’d run off. As she was coming to expect, within moments of her fixing her eyes on him, the boy turned to look at her, his dark eyes, wide and clear, finding hers with no trouble. He pressed his lips together and gave her a little nod, though she didn’t know whether he was trying to reassure her, or himself. She Flashed, and all seven colors of his aura shone bright and true.
He’d been quieter, and more calm than Kerida had expected a thirteen-year-old to be, and didn’t seem to be thinking of his father all that much. Ker’s own father, Elidon Nast, retired Faro of Panthers, had been away for most of her life, present only in letters and messages from soldiers on horseback. But somehow she’d always felt that she knew where he was, what he was doing. That he
was thinking of her, and her brother and sisters. Now that she considered it, she felt it still.
Jerek didn’t look like he felt that way, even though his father was within sight.
It was soon clear to everyone that Jerek’s pony couldn’t keep up. The column halted, and Jak Gulder rode back himself to see what the difficulty was.
“He’s old.” Jerek’s voice cracked and he hesitated before he began again. “He can’t keep up this pace, it’ll kill him.”
Gulder nodded. “Dismount, and get up behind Pella.” He jerked his head toward Thinlip.
Jerek dismounted, but slowly. “It’s not just my weight,” he said. “Fogtail can’t keep up. We’ll have to slow down.”
“That is exactly what we won’t do,” Jak said. “If he can’t keep up, he’ll have to be left.”
Jerek, teeth clenched, tried to pull the reins from Thinlip’s hands.
“We’ll tie him to that tree,” the man said with an accent much like Tel’s. “I’ll see someone comes back for him, or I’ll do it myself.”
Jerek looked the man in the eye long enough that Ker expected Jak to speak again. Finally, stone-faced, the boy nodded and accepted the soldier’s offered hand, swinging up behind him. There were clear streaks in the dirt on Jerek’s face. He hadn’t cried for his father.
• • •
“Gaena,” Jerek called over his shoulder as they approached the town gates, answering a question Ker hadn’t asked. She nodded at the boy’s back. It looked to be the sizable market town they’d so carefully skirted on their way to Brightwing Holding. It had taken only an hour to reach the place once they’d left the pony behind.
Such a large group, mounted, would normally have drawn a fair amount of attention, but the few people they passed on the streets studiously avoided looking at them. Except for one youngster who boldly followed them with round, innocent eyes. He let them pass without doing more than staring, but there was another such boy at the next sizable crossroads, and the one after that. Jerek turned his head to stare at that last one, a skinny blond, who lifted his chin at Jerek, and followed them all with his eyes.
Halls of Law Page 35