Fleeing Peace

by Sherwood Smith

  —and he woke to the smell of roasting potatoes.

  He sat up, grimacing against headache and pain in his wrists, arms, and shoulders. Leander Tlennen-Hess sat over an almost smokeless campfire, cooking fresh-caught fish, chopped potatoes, carrots, and scallops. From the smell he’d found olives somewhere and had crushed them into the pan. Olives, and sweet pepper, and garlic.

  Senrid’s stomach yawned emptily all the way down to his toes.

  He was not aware of making a noise, but Leander glanced up. “Awake? Steeped listerblossom there.” He tipped his head toward a pan lying on a flat rock. “It’s a little old,” he added apologetically. “I made it a while ago.”

  Senrid took the pan and slurped the listerblossom tea. It was barely warm, and so strong his nose stung, but it felt good going down. Some of his aches lessened.

  “Hungry?” Leander asked.

  “Ravenous.”

  “Be ready soon. It’s all we got left, but I’m hoping Dtheldevor will come back with something. Usually does.” Leander grinned. “I got the carrots while you were hibernating. Here are some nuts for dessert.”

  The outside area was dim and blue-lit, rain hissing steadily. It was good not to have to think. He watched Leander efficiently chop up carrots and add them to the sizzling foods in the flat pan.

  The dark-haired girl from the night before appeared. She was shivering, but her grin was triumphant over the bag clasped in her arms. “Couple o’ sparrows helped me out,” she said. “Led me right to ‘em.” And out of the bag tumbled three sizable shapes that Senrid recognized gratefully as the dense, tasty morvende cakes. “Hey! Looks like you found some eats as well.”

  “Squirrel led me to the spuds, chameleon to the rest, believe it or nuts,” Leander murmured.

  Senrid choked on his lukewarm drink, but as usual the pun was too subtle for Dtheldevor.

  “Also found me all these-yere grapes. Wild vines up yonder b’hind the city. Someone a bunch o’ generations back musta growed their own drinkin’s,” she added.

  “Any news?” Leander asked. “I take it you were there for Siamis to discover Senrid’s absence, since you were gone all night.”

  “Yep. Was a damn-blasted bust.” Dtheldevor sounded righteously disgusted. “You’d think if we’re gonna go to all the trouble t’pinch a prisoner, that soul-sucker could at least get burned! Stomp around a little. Cuss an’ fume. Nah. He just did that thing all night.” She mimed sitting, head in hands. “I know—I fell asleep up on top—magic makes that roof warm, you know—and when I woke he was still at it. Nearly missed it—one o’ his stench-faces comes in an’ lets out a squawk. Siamis looks up like it’s been just a moment and not all night, and he takes an eyeball inta the room, and says, ‘Our guest has decamped, I see. You may content yourself with a search, but I suspect that our shadows got ambitious.’” Her attempt at Siamis’s voice was surprisingly accurate, making both boys laugh. Then she made a face. “Whaddaya think that means?”

  Senrid said, “The Guardian and her allies must have someone tracking Siamis. Maybe he thinks magic got me out.”

  Leander looked up quickly. “We haven’t been able to get at him. Do you think at least we can get those Earth kids away? I mean, I know he’s got magic wards, but how bad are they?”

  Senrid shook his head. “Unless you know more magic than you did last summer, forget it. Dead on my feet as I was yesterday, I felt traps all over the place. He’s destroyed the lighter protections. I guess that’s why he’s assumed that The Guardian or one of her friends sprang me.”

  “Go on,” Leander said to Dtheldevor.

  “That’s it.” She shrugged. “Whatever he was doin’ all night, unless he sleeps that way—”

  “That’s not sleeping,” Senrid cut in. “It’s long distance contact—scouting others’ minds over a distance. Have you seen him asleep?”

  “Nope,” Leander said. “He doesn’t use any of the other rooms, but he does come and go by magic. He’s been gone a lot. He was gone all the day before yesterday, and came back just before you showed up. How’d you know what he’s doing? Were you really with Sartora?”

  Senrid lifted a shoulder. “For a time.”

  Leander grimaced. “We heard the orders he gave. About the first city she reaches.”

  “Shit.”

  Dtheldevor grinned.

  “That’s probably what he was doing, then, listening in,” Senrid said, and shut his eyes. “Liere must have reached that lake town he pointed at yesterday. On the border. Ah, I can’t recall the name.”

  “We’ll hear the name soon enough, I’m afraid, if the elevens really do carry out that order,” Leander said grimly, watching Senrid’s brows draw in, and anger tighten his face. “Here, food’s ready.”

  He divided the meal into three portions, two going onto camp plates and one staying in the pan, which he kept for himself. He gave the biggest portion to Senrid, gaining a nod of approval from Dtheldevor.

  “If they do catch up with Sartora, why not just have his bullyboys knife her quick-like?” Dtheldevor asked. “Why do in a whole town?”

  “Make sure she won’t become a heroic martyr,” Senrid said, his food sitting unnoticed beside him. Liere—town—his brain had woken, and his thoughts rushed headlong, leaving hunger behind. “If his plan works, she gets smeared as she goes down.” He got to his feet and paced across the back of the little cave, quick restless steps. “But what I don’t get is, he’s here. So why doesn’t he transfer to that city and do it himself? Or at least watch from on hand?” He paused again, and rubbed his forehead. “I think, though—I think it’s over. And that she’s alive. I saw her, just before I woke up, in my dream, but it was a strange kind of dream. I mean, not like a dream at all. In any case, what is Siamis doing here?”

  Leander sighed. “I don’t know much about Norsunder—or this kind of thing—but the answer that seems obvious to me is—”

  Senrid stopped, his wide eyes brightly reflecting the fire. “That there’s something else going on, something even more important.”

  Leander had not been about to say that, but he dismissed his own surmise with a mental shrug. “What, then?” he asked. “We’ve spied, but we sure haven’t gotten anything.”

  “Has to be the southern rift,” Senrid said, snapping his fingers. “And what he said about realignment . . . If the lighters closed the south rift, then some Norsundrian mage’s going to pay for it. They don’t like failures there. That much I know.”

  Leander said, “Be nice if the one who paid would be Detlev.”

  Senrid didn’t seem to hear him. He muttered in that same quick, absent voice, “Siamis is holding this place for a reason. Maybe just a good, isolated spot to keep those off-worlders. Maybe he’s not hiding them from the lighters so much as from Detlev, or one of the other big blades. That would explain the heavy backup troops just to guard four brain-dead kids. Whoever makes the new rift is going to control it . . .” He sighed. “I need to know where Liere is—if she’s safe—I need to know what’s happening.”

  Leander and Dtheldevor exchanged looks.

  Leander said, “Well, we can always go back and take a listen after we get some chow into us. Here. Sit down. Eat. You still don’t look too good.”

  Senrid plumped down abruptly. “I don’t feel good,” he admitted.

  Dtheldevor made a few pungent observations about elevens and their habits, then said, “So what’s Sar—uh, Liere like?”

  Senrid shrugged as he put his plate on his lap. “Call her Sartora if you want. Everyone else does.”

  “Does she act like a kid Siamis? Seem like a grownup?” Dtheldevor asked.

  “No to both.”

  “Weird. A kid doin’ that mind stuff. Can’t get it straight in me own head.” Dtheldevor ‘s greasy fingers held a bite of food in the air. “She do it to everyone? The mind stuff, I mean.”

  “No,” Senrid said. “Not if she can help it.”

  His patience and politeness convinced Leander t
hat Senrid was beginning to wish himself elsewhere, rescue notwithstanding. “Let him eat,” he said. “Bet you haven’t had this much food in a week.”

  “You win the bet.” Senrid’s smile was sour. “Ow! It’s hot.” He wrung his fingers (since silverware was not part of the supplies), then picked up a potato piece more carefully, blowing fiercely on it. He then popped it into his mouth. “Hey, that’s good.” And, in a tone of discovery, “I’m starving.”

  He got busy.

  Dtheldevor finished first, gave a vast yawn, and ambled to the back of the cave to change into her dry outfit, after which she curled up and zonked out.

  When she was asleep, Senrid tipped his head in her direction. “Who’s she, and what happened to you?”

  “Dtheldevor of Dthel Rendm.”

  “Pirate girl?” Senrid frowned slightly. “Not the same one—um, Wnelder Vee?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Huh. I’ve heard a few stories about her. And you found her. . .”

  “In Mearsies Heili. Nothing much to tell. Kitty and I made it there, told our news, to find out they already knew. So we hid out with Clair and the gang. Started hearing about what was going on through Clair’s aunt, who speaks to animals. Dtheldevor and I decided to have a crack at villain-assassination since no one seemed to be doing anything about Siamis, but all we did was chase him all over three continents, and then sit here watching because of that blasted magic ward.” Leander grimaced, sending Senrid a brief glance. He felt awkward, but apology was never easy. “I’m glad you sidestepped Norsunder. I’ve felt like a betrayer ever since we got you taken, and I am sorry for our part in it.”

  Senrid shrugged, feeling even more awkward than Leander did. He couldn’t show how much the apology meant to him. It was strange enough to realize that it did mean something. “Escape wasn’t mine,” he said. “We—Cassandra—”

  “Oh, good,” Leander interrupted. “Dtheldevor will want to know. She okay?”

  “Yes. We were pulled out by some friend of the queen of Sartor. I came north to try to close the rift. Fell in with Liere. Like you, I accomplished nothing.” The corners of his mouth tightened, and his eyes were wide and angry. He looked very much like the Senrid of old as he added, “But I really believe I know where Siamis is going next.”

  o0o

  Rel looked in dismay at the putative world-savior early the next morning. She’d just come down from the tree branch she’d wedged herself during the night. There, in the sensible light of morning, he saw a small, spindly scrap of a girl, her tear-stained face streaked with smoke-grit.

  She bent over Devon, who lay still and quiet on her broad branch, her chest rising and falling slowly in deep sleep. Sartora touched Devon’s hand, which stayed limp, then checked her mind. Devon’s mind was so deep she was below dreams.

  She straightened up to face Rel, who’d gotten rid of his Norsunder clothes. Good. She couldn’t bear to look at them.

  “Is Devon all right?” he asked. “Do we need to try to get her help?”

  “I don’t know. Who are you?”

  “Rel. And you are Sartora?”

  She sighed. “I guess so.” Another wave of nausea made her press her arms against her stomach. Sartora--the hero, who caused a whole town to burn.

  “You sure she’s all right?” Rel frowned.

  “Am.” She was too tired to explain.

  He pointed to the bag hanging against her clothing, and the silver artifact glinting there. “Is that Cassandra’s hatpin?”

  “Yes. How did you know about it?”

  “Saw it in Sartor during winter. What happened to the boy who was carrying it?”

  “Senrid? Elevens got him.” Grief wracked her ribs, and her breath shuddered. She squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath, and got control. Barely. “He might be back with Siamis, but I don’t think so.” Yes, Senrid was free, at least. Think about that, and not . . . “I just tried to check. His mind is his. But someone was listening and I ended the contact.”

  “Check? You have messengers?” Rel looked around for animals.

  “No.” Liere gave a bitter laugh. “I’m alone—I’m going to stay alone. I check by mind.”

  Rel grunted. He felt the same helplessness that Roderic had expressed about this mind-magic business.

  Then Liere stilled, and he watched in silence.

  She felt a contact: a small being, very definite, very nonhuman, but very clear.

  A small black cat appeared.

  Rel frowned in perplexity as the cat approached, delicately setting each paw down. When she got close enough for him to see the white spot behind one ear, he exclaimed, “It is! It is the same cat!”

  “What?”

  “This cat was with me in Sartor.”

  Liere sorted through the jumble of words and images sent by the cat, then she looked up at Rel in wonderment. “It was you who rescued Senrid and Cassandra. You didn’t tell me that.”

  He shrugged. Liere’s eyes were already blank again, then she almost smiled. That is, her tense young face relaxed a little, so she almost seemed normal. “And she—her name is Rina—has been with you ever since.”

  Rel thought about the cat he’d seen on shipboard, the occasional glimpses of what he’d assumed had been local black cats, and snorted a laugh. “I suspect I know now why I came after you—and how I found you.” Not to mention his other adventures. He smiled in self-mockery. He’d never really believed that he’d suddenly gained miraculous instincts on where to find both rescuees and enemies. The cat must have—somehow—sent mental suggestions. Though he didn’t much care for the idea. “If the cat really was controlling my mind in some way, why didn’t she just tell me what to do, and save us both time?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Liere said, sighing again as she tried to rub the grit from her eyes. That made them itch worse. “Rina offered you contact, but you didn’t seem to believe it, or her, yet some of the images she offered seemed to match with your own . . .” She waved a hand as if seeking a word.

  “Instincts? Intentions?” Rel offered.

  “That’s it.” Liere nodded absently. Her gaze was on the shrubbery where the cat had vanished, her hands white-knuckled as they gripped the bag round her neck; the cord dug into the flesh of her skinny neck.

  Rel contemplated this new aspect of events. It made sense—if you accepted what seemed to be happening, that minds could communicate with other minds without benefit of voice or sign. And the idea that he’d been somehow controlled quickly vanished; he did remember brief moments of confusing images, some that he rejected, others that matched his own perceptions. He also knew he’d chosen his paths, that no one had compelled him.

  All right. Dena Yeresbeth was possible. “Humph.”

  Liere blinked her burning eyes and said, “There has to be another way.”

  “To . . .?” Rel prompted.

  Liere sighed raggedly, still gripping the bag. A year ago she would have scorned her own temerity in even thinking about world events. After days of talking with Senrid as though anything were possible—including two kids making a difference, no, knowing how to make a difference—thinking in terms of world movement had become another responsibility to be met. “Evend of Bereth Ferian. Closing the rift.” Liere frowned, glowering downward, her stringy hair curtaining her thin face, then she looked up. “Rina says that the light magicians recently smashed the big rift down south—the one The Guardian has been working to destroy. But now, Rina says, the great birds of the north all maintain that the elevens’re making an even bigger one, and have been all along, up north.”

  Rel frowned. “This is news indeed. Can it be trusted?”

  “Rina is certain that the false one was the south one. Apparently there is a place all along a coast in the north, a new place. Animals don’t use human names for places, but there’s some area never before made into a rift where no creature wants to go, because the magic in the air is like lightning about to happen.”

  Sh
e paused, glancing at Rel with an expression he successfully interpreted as tiredness, leftover headache, and the need to be listened to. Believed.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “Well, also, the animals—the mages—someone thinks Evend is going to do something desperate.”

  “Something desperate?” Rel asked.

  Liere twisted the bag around her neck, jerking it from side to side so the skin above her skinny collar bones turned red from chafing. “I wish I knew more about magic. I wish I knew more. This rift that Norsunder is making. I took this part from Senrid’s mind, before he knew I could, because he wouldn’t tell me. One sure way to destroy it is to put the enchantment on yourself, and then die—taking the bad spells with you. Dark magic workers can do that to others, but a lighter mage could do it to himself.” Her face under the grime had blanched, and her voice was urgent. “Oh, oh, I hope that isn’t what Evend is thinking! Have you paper?”

  “Knapsack,” Rel said, indicating with a thumb where it hung from Devon’s tree. He felt strange, listening to this strange child who communed so silently with the little cat, but he believed them both.

  “You’ll have to help me.” Liere got up, her hands stiff with tension. “I have to write a letter, but I don’t know how to.”

  Very soon they came up with a letter, dictated by Liere, then signed with slow, painstaking letters.

  Rel folded it.

  Liere said, “Rina, please take that to Evend in Bereth Ferian. It’s desperately important.”

  The cat put her paws on Liere’s leg.

  Rel watched as the girl bent and reverently held out the folded paper. Rina bit down on it, and disappeared with a flick of her tail.

  Leaves rustled, and Devon joined them. Despite her grubby dress and smoke-smeared face, she looked rested as she smiled happily. “Is that Rel?”

  Rel nodded. “Good to see you again.”

  Devon turned to Liere. “He was there on my first adventure. In Mearsies Heili.”

  “You got a good sleep?”

  “Yes. The smoke made me sick, but I’m all right now.” Devon scratched her scalp vigorously. “We’ll feel better when we find a stream and get another bath.”