Chapter Thirty-four
Rel was as good as his word.
At first Norsunder sent every warrior they had in Everon, Imar, and Wnelder Vee to search for them. Liere knew within half a day that she never would have made it on her own. In fact, all her travels so far now seemed easy, compared to this terrible cross-country hunt.
That first day they must have had to hide twenty times, and more the next.
She never again spoke of going alone.
On the third day, the Knights met them at a designated place, with two bound and blindfolded prisoners who turned out to be the king and queen of Everon.
Roderic’s last action in Loss Harthadaun had been to force Mistress Hollem to leave with the children through the tunnels, he guarding their flank. They were the last to make it to safety before the Norsundrians discovered this escape route.
His first action when they reached safety had been a command to the Knights hiding in Ferdrian, the capital. During the two days that Rel guided the girls safely south, the Knights smuggled the enchanted king and queen to this meeting place deep in dawn-singer forestland.
Reverent fingers removed the blindfolds.
Liere silently pulled out the dyr and held it before the ensorcelled eyes of the King and Queen. She watched the tall bearded man whose face bore so much pain, and the short, plain, dark-eyed woman, as they gazed uncomprehending at the dyr. She said the spell, and watched their faces change. Question, puzzlement, desperation made them into people again as the Knights swiftly cut their arms free of the cloth bindings.
Then the air was filled with adults’ voices—questions, answers.
Liere was afraid that the royal people would soon look for her, just as had the Guild Magister in Loss Harthadaun, to fuss over, and celebrate. The thought made her feel sick with anxiety. She looked around for Devon, and found her with Rel.
“Let’s go,” she said quickly. “Please.”
Rel nodded. “I’ve arranged for some food, and horses. Now that all of Everon is free, they won’t be able to track us until we get to Imar, and by then Mistress Hollem has promised that she will have unraveled the Norsundrian wards over Imar like so much rotten cloth.”
Liere sighed. “Good.”
When they reached their first town in Imar, while Liere did her spell, Rel arranged for food and horses. They ate on the road.
Then on to the next destination.
And the next, as spring ripened to summer. Liere liked moving fast. There was no time for people to force her into the center of celebrations—no more waits for a vengeance-seeking Siamis to send an army to burn the city around her ears. As soon as she saw sanity in the eyes of those she disenchanted—question, puzzlement, curiosity, joy, anger, human emotions of any kind—she slipped away, Devon a quiet shadow at her side.
They did not go to South End. Liere had once felt—and immediately despised herself for—a wish to see her parents’ faces when they realized who she was and what she’d done.
Instead she made sure that someone would go there, for she became adept at finding strong minds who could spread the word—and in spreading it, reverse the enchantment, a mirror of how it had propagated to begin with.
Rel never asked needless questions. He never seemed to tire, though once she sensed that he needed rest; she saw in his mind that he had gone out to make a food run that had taken all night, while she and Devon slept.
“You are tired,” she said. “I see it. I can go on—” She remembered Everon, and shut her mouth.
His dark eyes were blank of emotion.
He said, after a time, “Will you teach me that mental shield thing you mentioned once?”
It was another sickening new insight, that to trespass was inappropriate, even for others’ supposed good. That the social lie was sometimes necessary for personal boundaries. She demanded her privacy, therefore she must permit others theirs.
Liere turned to Devon, sitting quietly by her side, and the insight hurt even more. She hadn’t even noticed how Devon had given up expressing her own feelings, or even talking about things that interested her. Why talk when Liere was always going to read her mind?
Liere stared down at her hands, which were grimy. Again. Her armpits prickled with embarrassment. She wondered what Senrid would say if he were here now, and was glad he wasn’t.
“Here’s how you make a mind-shield,” she said, and told Rel.
She did not check to see if he mastered it.
Before they reached the great Port of Jaro, Rel brought a wheelbarrow, and said, “Climb in.”
Devon and Liere got in and crouched down. The wheelbarrow smelled dusty and salty, like moldy hemp rope and old wood. He wedged their knapsacks around them, and fitted over them a barrel sawed in half. It was horribly uncomfortable, but at least it kept out the thin, cold rain.
They tipped back as Rel picked up the handles, then came the loud rumble of wheels over the stones of the street leading down into the port.
Liere was about to check on Devon, and stopped herself. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Devon’s voice sounded surprised. “Sure!” Then came the higher, anxious voice, “Is there something wrong that I don’t know?”
“Quiet in there.” Rel’s voice came from above.
Liere felt unsettled again, so she tried a joke like the kind Senrid had made. She whispered, “Not unless Rel is secretly an eleven.”
“Oh, never,” Devon whispered passionately. “You don’t trust him? I told you, I met him in Mearsies Heili. He travels with Puddlenose sometimes, and—”
“I know. I’m sorry, Devon. I was making a joke.”
Rel’s voice was quite close, as if he was bent over the barrel-cover. “Someone is going to notice if my load of luggage talks.”
The girls fell silent. Now it was hot and stuffy. The jolting rumble seemed to go on forever, then it changed: they were rolling along wooden docks.
After a thousand years, Rel exclaimed, “I don’t believe it!”
Liere’s body flashed with alarm. She struggled against the impulse to invade his mind. How horrible, not to know.
Devon’s breath tickled Liere’s ear as she breathed, “I think he found something.”
The rolling increased, jouncing the girls so their heads thumped the barrel. Then they were thrown forward, their faces pressing into the wood as the wheelbarrow went up and up, leveled off, then they were thrown back as they rolled down another ramp.
And came to a halt. Or so it seemed. The wheels no longer rolled and bumped, but the wheelbarrow itself swayed and jerked gently.
“We’re on a ship,” Devon whispered.
The barrel lifted away, and cold, sweet air rushed in to cool the girls’ flushed faces as Rel and a tall, weather-beaten man in a green coat smiled down at them.
As the girls climbed out, Rel said, “I didn’t even hope I’d find you here, Captain Heraford.”
Captain Heraford said, “We may sit here longer. I can tell you the truth: I deeply regret setting young Senrid ashore a little farther north as soon as I caught word of him being hunted by Norsunder. I’ve been cruising this coast ever since, in hopes he will make his way to where I dropped him, or to this harbor.”
“He is safe,” Liere said. “He is far north.”
The captain’s face relaxed. He held out his hands, and dropped them. “Then tell me where you want to go.”
“We’ll talk about that,” Rel said. “First, let’s get the girls settled. It’s been a rough few days.”
The captain gave Liere and Devon a sympathetic glance. “Yes, I see that. Welcome, girls. As my guests, I invite you to sign the ship’s log.”
Liere concentrated on making her letters, but her scrawl looked like hen scratches underneath Senrid’s neat printing above. She surreptitiously brushed her fingers over his name, glad that he was alive, then handed the pen to Devon.
Soon after that they were clean, and dry, and fed. Even their clothes were clean, for Captain Heraford h
ad a cleaning frame on board his ship. They were given a snug cabin with two bunks, above which had been fitted little shelves with things fastened down by fine-carved wood rails. Books were scattered on these shelves.
Liere pulled one down, thinking: Soon—if I live—I will read, and read, and read. I will never again be ignorant. Knowledge must teach control, because I can’t seem to learn it on my own.
Devon knelt to look out the porthole at the gray-green sea. “I feel safe,” she said finally, grinning at Liere over her shoulder.
Liere sighed with relief. Devon’s volunteering that was the first time in a very long while that she’d admitted to a feeling without first being asked.
“So do I,” Liere said, wondering if she ought to apologize. Except wouldn’t that be a further trespass, to air the words just to assuage her own guilt?
Devon flopped back on her bunk. “Safe!” she repeated. “Clean, dry, safe, and lots of food, all at once. I hope I never forget just how wonderful those are.”
Liere said, “Devon . . .”
The girl sat up, her face closing into sharp worry again.
Liere shook her head. “Never mind. None of my business.”
Devon looked puzzled. “I thought you heard everything. Knew everything!”
“I’m trying not to. Hear, I mean. I don’t know everything. Wish I did! Then I’d know when not to be nosy.”
Devon giggled softly. “Well, what did you want to ask?”
Liere studied the younger girl. Devon seemed . . . yes, she was pleased at the prospect of knowing something that Liere might not know. She’d been denied that for so long.
“I’ve been hard to travel with. And you are friends with our rulers back in Imar, and they are no longer enchanted . . .”
“But not safe,” Devon said, her mouth down-turned. “Not ‘till Siamis is gone. And I don’t want to go back yet.”
Devon’s gaze turned inward. Liere was determined not to send a tendril in the mental realm.
Devon was not going to admit to anyone how hurt she’d been after the Imaran prince and princess were unenchanted. Liere had left, but Devon had lingered, hoping for . . . she didn’t even know what. But Karia hadn’t even looked at her. She’d run shrieking to her noble friends, and oh, how much that hurt! Russy as well, but Devon didn’t care as much about him.
“I want to go explore the ship,” she said. “While it’s still light out.”
Liere started up, then realized she did not have to go. They were safe, and she did not need to guard or guide Devon.
“I’m going to stay right here,” she said.
“Okay.” Devon jumped up and scampered out.
Liere turned to the book she’d taken off the shelf. She puzzled over the words, sounding her way laboriously through a page or two, until her eyes burned. And then—with no pressing need preventing her, no threat, no responsibility—she stretched out and slept.
Rel watched from a distance as the days of the voyage passed into weeks, and a month. His two charges slowly altered from thin, frightened little wraiths to normal kids. At least young Devon did, sounding more like the child he’d met in Mearsies Heili not long ago. The older one, Sartora, looked more like a normal kid, but her manner, her expression, her interests, all belied her age. She carried a burden, one that never left her.
The only way to help that Rel could think of was to take her to Mearsies Heili.
Chapter Thirty-five
Dtheldevor, who didn’t mind in the least.
Dtheldevor enjoyed the way Leander and Senrid talked through day-long marches and evening campfires; when she got bored with the endless talk of history and magic, she took off to explore on her own.
Only once did they touch on matters closer to home; Leader knew that his small kingdom wouldn’t be of much use to the villains, but that wasn’t true of Marloven Hess, and he could see Senrid’s worry.
He said, “I think it would take a new and much more complicated type of spell to make the Marlovens useful to Norsunder. If the villains had such a thing, they would have used it long ago.”
Senrid’s mouth tightened. “If my people were on the march, we would have heard.”
That ended the subject.
Once Dtheldevor brought back horses with her. “Dawn-singer gifties,” she said.
Leander suspected that Dtheldevor’s sidekick Sarmonwilda had probably given her whatever kinds of secret signs and accesses that dawn-singers used to communicate with one another, but he knew better than to ask.
It was enough that the three got a couple of good rides through the hills southeast of the bend of the Silver Lake, and food.
Just as well, it turned out.
The weather steadily worsened. Leander and Dtheldevor were considerably amused when—each time they came to a sizable pool or a river—Senrid would throw himself in, splashing about in the cold water until he felt that his clothing and self were clean.
Leander and Dtheldevor had both spent much of their young years under conditions of deprivation, and had thus learned to live with one set of clothing and long stretches between baths. Senrid’s fastidiousness was an entertaining frivolousness to them.
The three had reached a great river draining from the eastern mountains down into Silver Lake—a gleaming line along the western horizon—when Dtheldevor, knowing what was likely to come next, pulled one of her vanishing acts.
Leander sat on a fallen log, chewing wen-stalks, and watched Senrid splash with determination into a stream that had to be cold. “Looks like rain soon. Why don’t you wait on that?”
“Because the dirt turns to mud,” Senrid called, then splashed back into the water.
When he came up again—whooping from the cold—Leander said, “We’ll get muddy anyway. So it makes sense to take a bath?”
“At least I’ll only have one layer of dirt,” Senrid retorted, climbing out and shaking himself all over. “Blast! Give me your knife, will you?” He slung his hair back out of his eyes.
Leander pulled out his knife and tossed it to land hilt-up near Senrid’s foot.
Senrid gave him a sardonic look. “Why not between my toes?”
“Cause my aim isn’t that good,” Leander said equably. “Don’t issue a dare like that to Dtheldevor,” he added.
“Is her aim that good?” Senrid asked. He picked up the knife, grabbed handfuls of hair and sawed it off.
“I dunno, but a dare is a sure way to get her to try.”
“I’ll remember that.” Senrid tossed the knife back. It split a knot near Leander’s hand, which made Leander laugh silently.
Senrid didn’t notice. He was busy burying his cut hair under a flat rock. “Why does the sun have to disappear now? Couldn’t that cloud wait?” he complained, sitting back on his heels. His hair stuck up in curls all over his head, reminding Leander of ducks’ down.
“Couldn’t you wait?” Leander asked, sheathing his knife. “What were we talking about before you decided you had to become an icicle? Oh yes, Tdanerend and his—”
“Hey.” Senrid stilled, head cocked.
Dtheldevor rode at a canter straight at them. She was astride one white horse and led two more.
“C’mon, you barrel-heads! Siamis sicced his blood-blisters on us!”
Leander snagged his knapsack and hoisted himself onto a mount. Cursing furiously, Senrid thrashed into soggy socks and dirty shoes, took a few quick steps and vaulted onto the back of the third mount.
They splashed their way across the river—thoroughly soaking Leander and Dtheldevor as well as the already wet Senrid.
“What gives?” Leander called when the roaring of the river had diminished behind them.
“Dunno,” Dtheldevor yelled over her shoulder. “Morvende said birds spotted ‘em.”
“If this river is the one I think it is,” Senrid shouted, “we’re in Lascandiar. Bet we’ve enchanted people ahead, and more elevens.”
“Won’t take that bet,” Leander said. “Let’s hope these ho
rses can find us some areas that are human-free.”
No one spoke as the horses raced away from the rolling hills into forestland. They kept up a steady pace, scarcely pausing until darkness had fallen.
By then they had reached the rocky foothills along the eastern edge of mountains covered with tall pine. The horses slowed, switching back and forth up a narrow trail. The kids’ breath began to show, their noses tickled by the clean, astringent scent of resin.
The horses stopped before a treacherous precipice, and the kids slid down. Dtheldevor spotted the opening to the cave, low in a rocky gully that was partially obscured by young firs.
“I think . . .” Senrid said, trying to decide if the flickering images in his head were his own wishes or a kind of contact from one of the horses. “I think they’re going to lead our pursuit away.”
“Good,” Leander said, looking at the fresh hoof prints in the dirt leading back down the trail. “Think it really is Siamis behind the pursuit, or someone else? I mean, there’s been no pursuit before.”
Senrid shrugged. “Can we risk a fire, do you think? I’m freezing.”
“Let’s see how deep this thing is,” Dtheldevor called over her shoulder.
She was farthest down the rock-strewn cliff side. There was no path. They had to pick their way down, slipping and sliding.
But the cave turned out to be worth the effort. It was narrow—barely wide enough for one to sit with his or her legs stretched out—but deep.
Dtheldevor yelled, “Look what I found at the very back!”
The others crowded up. There was a neat stack of logs waiting, and a pile of flat, fire-blackened stones that had obviously seen much use.
“Outlaws,” Dtheldevor proclaimed with satisfaction. “Bet anything. This-yere’s a blast-gut fine hidey-hole.”
“All we need is some kindling,” Leander said, and as Senrid opened his mouth, he grinned and added quickly, “I’ll get it.”
Senrid snorted. “Well, how was I supposed to know that about green wood?”
Fleeing Peace Page 35