There was no sign of trouble from the road to White Foal Pass. Even Reaylis could not say whether the kidnappers had died at the hands of the black-robes or vice versa, but given that they had faced not only three Demon Summoners, but an entire troop of Karsite soldiers, Mags thought that for once they might have met their match. Neither he nor any of the other Heralds could sense that curious presence that their talismans lent them.
It was moot, anyway. If they had survived, whatever happened next was going to depend on the decision of their leader, this “Shadao,” and by then . . . well, Mags was not going to be sitting around idle for the next several months.
He took a deep breath of the leaf-scented air, stretched, and headed for the tent where the glass grinder was working on the last touches to Franse’s lenses. But Franse beat him by emerging from the tent before he got there, followed by Reaylis, tail held high.
“Leather, huh?” Mags examined the lenses strapped around Franse’s head with a critical eye. Unlike Bear’s lenses, which were held in place with wire, or a set he had seen that had been set into a wooden frame, these had been sewn into a sort of leather half-mask that buckled at the back. The leather-maker who’d made the frame had had the amusing conceit of using a leather that matched the dark, brownish-red of the Suncat’s face, so that when the two of them turned to look at Mags, he saw two masked faces with big eyes looking at him.
“It is making more sense in forest,” the young priest said, and shrugged. “I am glad making of lenses is over. ‘Is clearer or smaller? Is clearer, or smaller?’ I am hearing that even in dreams.” But he grinned, and Mags grinned back.
There had been no more interference the rest of the way to the Border, where they had been met by an entire Guard company, five Heralds, two Healers, and a Valdemaran red-robe priest of Vkandis who had a tiny temple on the Valdemar side of the Border and protected this part of it from the demons. He didn’t have a Suncat, and he greeted the sight of Reaylis with disbelief and awe that pleased Franse and that Reaylis accepted as nothing less than his due.
After all, he was a cat.
It had taken about a week to round up a lens maker and grind lenses for Franse, and meanwhile the two of them had recovered from exhaustion and wounds.
Now Franse was returning to Karse, something that had surprised everyone but Dallen and Mags. After what Reaylis had said to him, Mags was not at all surprised to hear that Franse’s sense of duty to his people was sending him home again.
Well, not exactly “home.”
“I cannot return to cave, is nothing to return to,” Franse had said philosophically. “Anyway, is no one there is needing us. Here . . . is need.” Then he grinned. “Also, is supplying whatever I need, your Guard. If home is ruined again, no worry, just to be filling out Valdemar requisition! Ha!”
And now that he had a safe harbor over the Border to retreat to at need—not to mention the ability to see what he was doing—there was nothing to hold him back from helping wherever he could.
“I’m going to miss you, but I’m glad you’re going back,” Mags said, sincerely.
Franse clapped him on the back. “Now that skinny little Northerner has given me eyes and courage?” He laughed. “Rabbits, beware! But you—you have task ahead of you as well, my friend. Harder than mine.”
“Different. Not harder.” Mags already knew he had a puzzle to unravel . . . not to mention a lot to deal with. He had some vague ideas, but right now he needed to talk to wiser heads than his. Not to mention find a way to sort through that tumble of memory-fragments that, for the moment, were just sealed away in a part of his mind until he found a way to deal with them. But the past could not be ignored any longer.
Franse nodded. “Well. You and I both part tomorrow. What of tonight?”
Mags slowly grinned. “You ain’t been to the inn here yet, have you?”
“I have been too busy with pieces of glass and discussions with my fellow priest. And sleeping and healing. Why?” Franse and Reaylis both tilted their heads to the side, looking oddly alike.
“Because they make the best rabbit stew you ever tasted,” Mags said with satisfaction.
:Oh, DO lead on!: said Reaylis before Franse could answer, licking his chops. :And take notes, Franse. Take notes. You can see, and that means you can hunt. From now on, I expect to be fed properly. As is, of course, my due.:
“Of course,” Franse replied aloud. “Just as soon as claw punctures on shoulders finish to heal.”
Redoubt: Book Four of the Collegium Chronicles (A Valdemar Novel) Page 32