Fleeing Peace

by Sherwood Smith

  Leander stretched again. “What I can’t figure is why didn’t Siamis use the Venn the way he did the Gerandans? You know, enchant them and put them out as guards and spies?”

  “Too tough a rep,” Senrid said, looking up from his laced hands. “And his spell’s too flimsy.”

  The kids glanced his way.

  “But the Gerandans—”

  “I’ll bet anything that wasn’t his plan. Though he implemented it. Anyway, Gerandans are Venn descendants, though they don’t have the rep the Venn have. Put the Venn out in key spots, lift the enchantment, and they’re right where they need to be to take down the local Norsundrians. Siamis has to have seen that one from the start.”

  “So that’s why the rift up here, then? Send a big army to be sitting near the border to the Land of the Venn when the enchantment’s lifted?” Arthur asked.

  Senrid opened his hands. “Bet you anything they attack after the magic lifts. More fun that way.”

  Leander winced. Arthur glanced away, his fine, fair hair falling forward on either side of his temples, hiding his furrowed brows.

  Faris said, “Horses are ready whenever you are.”

  That started another conversation, as they waited for the last of the rain to patter on the tent and wind its way south. Senrid’s abstraction vanished for a time as he and Faris talked about the horses. Horse training was important in Marloven Hess, that Winn had seen on his brief visit. The two talked training until Dtheldevor made a bored comment, then Senrid fell silent again, and the conversation shifted to the night’s plan.

  Winn let them talk that out, too, and when Faris sent him an exasperated look and said, “I think we might as well go if we’re going to,” he followed along.

  “I’ll see you off,” Arthur said, smiling.

  “Me too,” Winn put in.

  “What,” Faris said to Winn as soon as the four kids were far enough ahead, “are you doing?”

  “Two things.” He grinned.

  She saw that grin in the streaming torchlight, and looked askance.

  “One, I just love watching that Montredaun-An boy in action.”

  “But you have to stay here with Arthur—it’s time for the mage run.”

  “I mean planning. Assessing. You should watch him. There’s a lot more going on in his head than he lets out, but he seems to anticipate every order, or conclusion, that makes sense. And I think he’s nearly memorized my maps.”

  “Um.” A faint shrug. “But?”

  Winn’s humor faded. “Something’s wrong. I think it has to do with magic.”

  “Oh, it does,” she said. “He keeps trying to get us to fall in with this plan of his.”

  “Why don’t you listen to him?”

  “Because Evend has given us orders. Also, because he doesn’t want the risk of dark magic enchantments here, even if aimed at Norsunder. Too much possibility of being used by the enemy. The kid has an amazing knowledge of magic, from what I can tell, but not as deep as he thinks.”

  “Interesting. He’s certainly not guilty of over-assessing his other abilities. Scorns himself for not knowing sword-work though he’s hot with a bow, considers himself just a passable rider, when he nearly runs the best of us off the trail. Won’t speak up at our strategy meetings, though he listens. And so on.”

  Faris waved a hand dismissing the ‘and so on.’ “I have my orders. You have yours.”

  Winn sighed. “Tying Arthur down is not doing him the least good. He just has more time to brood, and he can’t ask Evend or Oalthoreh questions.”

  Faris nodded soberly. “I’ll tell them. You know they care deeply about him.”

  Winn forced a smile. I know, or I would have cut him free a long time ago.

  He and Arthur watched Faris and the three kids join with the rest of the patrol and ride out. They started back, the mud sucking at their feet at every step. As Arthur debated insisting on being permitted to go and Winn wondered what to say if he did they heard the kek-kek-kek of a stooping raptor, which was followed by a long cry: someone sighted by the perimeter watch.

  Word ran ahead: friends. What was better, aid!

  Then Winn was completely surprised when Arthur gave a whoop and exclaimed, “It’s the Mearsieans!” as the scout on the northern ride led in a swarm of girls.

  Winn’s first reaction was dismay, for they so badly needed reinforcement, and who was going to watch over these kids? But then he saw the white head among them, and it was his turn to exclaim in amazement. “Clair Sherwood?”

  She didn’t seem to have her big cousin along, which was a shame, but the mages would be glad of Clair’s help, wouldn’t they? The kid who’d freed Bereth Ferian?

  “It’s Arthur!”

  “Ar-thur!” a girl with freckles and bristly red hair yelled, racing up. “Learned any new pocalubes? I need lots more insults, cuz Siamis is gonna have a whole chapter to’mself!”

  Arthur said happily to Winn, “Faline is going to write a book about how to properly treat villains.”

  The freckle-face beamed at Winn. “Yep! Soon’s I learn me a bit more about readin’ and writin’!”

  High, excited kid piped through the usually quiet camp, as people moved purposefully here and there, and torches wavered and streamed in the clean spring wind. Winn was amazed at the change that had come over Arthur.

  “ . . . so here’s the current situation,” Arthur was saying to Clair and a short girl with long black hair. “We don’t have nearly enough people for patrol duty. Our plan is to find the elevens and see what they’re doing, which so far is laying rifts here and there. We have a tough time communicating, since the patrols go out for five day rides.”

  Winn watched, still amazed. It was the first time he’d seen Arthur take the initiative, and his sum-up was masterly.

  Clair nodded. “I see. So there could be ten days lost in getting word out between groups, is that it?”

  “Yes. Now, we do have the help of birds and in the north, at least, the animals, but the elevens have taken to shooting at them for sport, and we don’t know how long they’ll stay with us.”

  The black-haired one said, arms crossed, “What about magic?”

  “They can intercept messages. It’s happened twice—that we know of. And we daren’t use transfer.”

  “They need our slates, is what they need,” the black-haired one said to Clair.

  “Yes.”

  It was just a comment, but Winn saw Clair frown, and then her brow clear, and both she and Arthur turned his way, as if they’d had some kind of mental exchange. He knew they hadn’t—the unknown, mysterious Sartora was the only one who could (supposedly) hear thoughts—but it was quite amazing how well they understood one another.

  “Do you really need them?” Clair asked.

  Winn gestured a little helplessly. “I—I don’t really have much to do with the magic end of things. Oalthoreh commands, and Evend—”

  “Yes,” Arthur said. “We do.”

  Clair gave a firm nod. “Then we’ll be back. Girls?”

  The swarm of girls formed a quiet circle around Clair.

  “CJ and I have to go back home to get our slates. They need people here for patrols. Arthur?”

  And Arthur said, without hesitation, “The toughest area for ordinary humans is the Ghost Lakes. Dhana, you probably would do fine there. And Seshe.”

  Clair said, “Seshe? Dhana?”

  Both girls nodded.

  “I’ll stay with ‘em,” a brown one with dark hair and dark eyes spoke up. She seemed utterly unconscious of her nascent beauty. “I don’t mind weirdies.”

  The girls grinned.

  “You stay with them, then, Diana. The rest of us will get our slates. How’s that?”

  Arthur said, “We’ll get you mounts.”

  And he did. As he sent them off, Winn mentally amended his report, thinking: Oalthoreh, you’re not going to like this sudden independence. But he hoped Evend would, when he saw how happy Arthur was.

  o
0o

  When the patrol rode south, Senrid peeled off. He didn’t tell anyone he was going to scout his way to the city to talk to Evend.

  It took him three days of hard riding. He shut out everything but the goal ahead, stopping for minimal rest, food, and water; the animals cooperated, so he always had mounts. He was too used to their appearance to be disturbed any more. But he wondered when the silent cooperation would end.

  When he reached Bereth Ferian he eyed the ancient marble palace, feeling like he was entering the camp of the enemy. He sensed powerful lighter wards in place, which explained why Siamis hadn’t just blasted in and trashed Evend, since—to all appearances—the ancient mage was just sitting in his stronghold doing nothing.

  Few people were about. Senrid practiced his inner listening, and located Evend in another wing. As he trod the quiet halls, glancing at old tapestries depicting historical occasions about which he knew nothing, and paintings of people whose identities he was ignorant of, he wondered why no one had stopped him. Did Evend really think that Siamis would only come in force?

  And where was Siamis?

  Senrid shook his head. Time for that later.

  He found the room, and opened the door without knocking.

  “I could have been Siamis,” he said.

  The old man was sitting in a wingchair, a great book on his lap. He turned his head. His long white beard drifted down onto his hands, and over the pages of the book.

  “No,” Evend said, his raspy voice calm. “He will not come until he is ready.”

  “And you’re going to sit here and wait for him?”

  Evend said nothing.

  Senrid hissed a sigh out through his teeth. “Look. This method using your own life—it’s very heroic, but unnecessary. I know another way. I’m warded against doing the magic, but I can tell someone how. I am sure you can give up one of your light magic objects. Like that hatpin that Liere carries. Or you must have something or other lying around that has all kinds of heavy spells on it. Use it to bind your enchantment. It’s just a reversal spell, right?”

  Evend said, “I know enough dark magic to remove that mirror ward on you. It’s a fairly simple spell, although quite lethal.”

  “That characterizes most dark magic,” Senrid stated with cheery irony. “Go ahead! Though I won’t use it. I imagine Siamis has tracers against me.”

  “Probably,” Evend agreed.

  But he performed the magic, his sonorous old voice speaking words that Senrid was used to only from himself—and his uncle.

  That done, Senrid said, “I take it you are not going to use my suggestion.”

  “I am not stopping you from attempting it,” Evend said. “There would be no proof like success, would there?”

  Senrid gritted his teeth. Was the old mage humoring him? Senrid loathed being treated as if he were just an ignorant boy.

  He liked Arthur, though. He’d only known Evend’s heir a few days, but he had instantly comprehended that Arthur was unswervingly devoted to the old man. So he said only, “Success as proof. Well, then, I’ll be back with my proof, fair enough?”

  Evend smiled, a sad smile. A disbelieving smile. “Fair enough.”

  Senrid left without another word.

  He cursed all the way outside the city, and then grimly faced the long journey southward again in order to catch up with his patrol. So he needed a suitable magic object. When Liere returned, as everyone expected, he could borrow the hatpin or the dyr. She wouldn’t need them anymore, right?

  Chapter Forty-two

  For nearly a month Liere and Devon lightning-flashed through the settled areas of the world. The Norsundrians were never able to predict where she would be next. By the time they discovered yet another population waking up and restless, she was long gone.

  And so the girls whirled north and south over the world, never sleeping on the same continent, and seldom eating two consecutive meals in the same kingdom. Liere refused to talk to any adults, just did her job and vanished as quickly as she could.

  When at last their food ran out, Devon made it her business to ask the adults for food and shelter when she thought it was time, because Liere wouldn’t even ask for that. And she kept forgetting to eat or rest unless Devon suggested it.

  It was good to do this work, but after a time the faces of the disenchanted blurred in their tired minds. They felt lonely and isolated, Liere driven by the terrifying memory of Loss Harthadaun, and her own guilt at having given in and permitted people to make a fuss over her. She lived in a fever of hurry, not wanting even to know the names of the people she faced: as soon as she saw awareness shape blank faces into persons, she ran for Hreealdar, tugging Devon after her.

  As the month wore on, Devon longed for a quiet place to live, with friends and a cozy fire. She wanted to eat cookies again, and sleep in the same bed every night.

  Liere longed for the last stop, because then she could go to Bereth Ferian, where she knew friends were. And conversation. And—

  She couldn’t define the third ‘and’. She just wanted to be there.

  Chapter Forty-three

  After a month of patrols and rain and more patrols and more rain, Senrid and Leander rode in together to Winn’s latest camp, tired after a week of hide-and-seek with the Norsundrians.

  Leander had two thoughts: food and his bedroll. He watched Senrid assessing the camp—who was there, who not—and wondered what was going on in his head. Senrid had been sour for a couple of weeks after returning from a scouting foray about which he said only “Useless,” but gradually his mood had shifted back to his usual restless cheer.

  The left their mounts with the day’s horse picket hands, then walked to Winn’s tent.

  “What news?” Senrid asked as they entered. “Where’s Liere now?”

  “Um,” Faris said, glancing down at Winn’s camp table. “Tivaree, Ormondeh, Shezla, and Barhoth have been freed from the enchantment. So far, in today’s communications.”

  Leander said politely, “Thanks, Faris.”

  Senrid’s eyes were half shut. He snapped his fingers. “North of Sartor. Mardgar River. She’s fast!”

  Faris shrugged, flicking her long honey-colored braid behind her. “The birds still insist she’s riding a bolt of lightning.”

  “Whether she is or not, it’s got to be confounding Siamis’s people.” Senrid clawed his wild curls back and peered down at the list. “Yesterday she was west of the Halian-Toaran landbridge. She can’t be doing those kinds of hops without some kind of magic.”

  Faris pointed to Senrid’s bandaged hand. Though she was nearly grown the boys found her a comfortable person because she didn’t act like an Adult, appointing herself their authority because she was older. They’d learned that she was a magic student, but skilled with a bow and a good rider. She and her two brothers—patrol leaders both—were old friends of Winn. And everybody liked Winn, partly (Leander had decided) because it was so clear that Winn liked everybody.

  “Wound?” Faris asked.

  Senrid shrugged.

  Leander said, “The morvende we were with accidentally met up with some elevens who were nosing around looking for their geliath. We had a little sword-work and then led ‘em a fine chase.”

  “And in the sword-work I was rotten, as usual,” Senrid said grimly.

  Faris and Leander exchanged looks.

  “Any more news?” Senrid asked.

  “Yes.” Faris smiled. “The magic end I can give you more details on. We got a very, ah, colorful report from that black-haired girl. Um, CJ Sherwood. You’ll find her and some of the other Mearsieans somewhere around.”

  “So the Mearsieans are back?” Senrid asked, crossing his arms. So far he and the Mearsieans had missed one another, each one’s patrol returning just after the other rode out. Fine by him.

  “Let’s go ask for a report in person,” Leander suggested. “Come on. You’ll like Clair.”

  Senrid just smiled. His last encounter with Mearsieans had bee
n memorable for numerous reasons, none of them being friendship. Of course he’d been doing a reluctant job of trying to kill two of them.

  They crossed the camp, Senrid taking two strides to Leander’s one. People were already busy breaking camp. Returning Norsunder harassers would be informed of the new location by birds, or a couple of Fen wolves who were running with the wilder groups—like the one that Dtheldevor had joined. This until every group could get one of Clair Sherwood’s slates.

  Winn waved from the other side of the camp, then returned to his conversation with a pair of patrol leaders.

  Arthur was in his tent, surrounded by half a dozen adults in mage robes, with CJ and Clair standing by, unnoticed. Leander and Senrid exchanged looks; something had happened. The mages usually stayed in their own secret camp.

  Arthur gave a nod as the boys looked in. “So each of our people should have one of Clair’s slates by the end of the week?”

  The adults muttered assent, and Oalthoreh said to her companions, “I suggest we eat something and then depart. We all need to return to our own posts.”

  The adults walked out of the tent, deep in talk about mirror spells and enchantment key searches.

  Arthur said wryly to Clair, “I think they still believe your slates were an accident.”

  Clair shrugged. “I don’t really care what they think, as long as they use them.”

  “They’re using ‘em,” CJ said gloatingly. “And they didn’t invent them. One for us.”

  “Well, it did take me a long time to understand how they work,” Clair admitted. “And it was happenstance to find out that we could transfer back to get them through the caves.”

  Senrid crossed his arms. “They don’t know what to do about kids with good ideas. Or kid leaders.”

  Everyone looked up. CJ’s made a comical face. “Hey! Is that you, Boneribs?”

  Senrid said, “I have a twin somewhere in the world?”

  CJ grinned. “Dunno—though maybe your spoon-faced gaboon of an uncle would know. And I wouldn’t put it past that floob-nosed gnackle, either.”

  Senrid laughed.

  Leander said, “Clair, this is Senrid.”