“I don’t mind putting that dress back on, dirty or not,” I said. “I’m used to dirt.”
She gave me a friendly shrug but shook her head. “Orders.”
I considered that as I rinsed the last of the sandsoap from my hair and wrung it to get the water out. Orders from whom? My mind filled with recent memories. More awake now, I knew that the rescue at Chovilun had been no dream. Was it possible that the marquis had seen the justice of our cause and had switched sides? The escort, the humane treatment—surely that meant I was being sent home. Once again I felt relief and gratitude. As soon as I got to the castle I’d write a fine letter of thanks. No, I’d get Oria to write down my words, I decided, picturing the elegant marquis. At least as embarrassing as had been the idea of waking up in his arms again was the idea of his trying to read my terrible handwriting and worse spelling.
“Don’t stay in too long, my lady.”
The voice recalled me to the present—and I was getting chilled. Reluctantly I climbed out of the pool. At once my various aches and pains clamored for attention, and all I wanted to do was lie there in the sun and sleep forever.
But then delicious smells wafted from the other side of the rise, which woke up my appetite. I put on the clothes Yora Nessaren had laid out. They were hopelessly large on me—and when she saw it, she bit her lip, hard, in a praiseworthy attempt not to laugh. The three stars that should have been in the middle of my chest rested over my stomach. I shook my head. “This is better than the dress?” I asked as she packed up the extra gear.
“Well, it’s clean,” she said, “and we’ll belt it up. But when we ride, it’s nine equerries for House Renselaeus that people will be seeing, my lady.”
I was too tired to wonder what this meant—except I knew it was no immediate threat to me. So I followed her over the rise to where a young man with two red braids tied back had laid out a little camp. In the distance the horses drank from the stream, but the other riders were nowhere in sight.
“Here, Lady Meliara.” Yora Nessaren tossed me a carved shell comb.
As I attacked my hair she cut my old dress up and burned it bit by bit. I thought of Ara and was sorry to see it used thus.
The young man finished his preparations, then said, “All ready, Ness.”
The equerries who had been tending the horses came through the trees and sat down.
The riding captain said, “We’ll eat, then rotate positions so the others can have their meal. Then we’re on the road.”
And that’s what happened. The red-haired young man, Amol, handed me a toasted length of bread that turned out to have grilled trout, cheese, and greens stuffed into it. He also gave me a generous tin of steep, all without looking directly at me.
I sat on a rock with my hair hanging down to the grass all around me, drying in the warm breeze. The equerries ate quickly, with a minimum of conversation, and they studiously ignored me. When Nessaren and her group finished, everyone helped clean up, then they went by twos to replace the ones doing guard duty. I was still working on my braid when they began to remount, and then I saw that there was a ninth horse. But Nessaren frowned from me to it, then said, “We’ll proceed as we started, I think, if you don’t object, my lady.” And bowed without a trace of ironic intent.
I knew I was too weak to ride on my own. I also recognized that I was not uncomfortable with the idea of riding with her on the same horse. So I shrugged, finished my braid, and wrapped it in its coronet. One of them silently handed me a helm.
Nessaren was smiling faintly as she boosted me up onto her mount, but she said nothing beyond, “Ride out.”
The others fell into formation, and away we went.
oOo
And that was the pattern for several days. The second day Nessaren offered me that last horse, which, of course, I accepted. We rode at a steady pace, occasionally cantering when the horses were fresh. The first few times I rode alone I felt inordinately weary toward the end of each ride. But when it seemed I was going to fall off, we’d make a stop for food and water, or to camp.
They had an extra bedroll for me, and we slept under the stars, or in a tent when it rained. We always stopped near a stream so that we could start our ride with a proper morning bath. We also stopped once at midday when a hard rainstorm overtook us, and we camped through the duration.
A time or two a pair of the riders would peel off and disappear, to reappear later with fresh supplies, or once with a sealed letter, which was given into Yora Nessaren’s hands. She got that the day we stopped for the rainstorm, and since I had nothing else to do, I watched her read it.
As usual she said nothing, but she looked over at me with a faintly puzzled expression that I found unsettling because I couldn’t interpret it.
Yora and the others were all scrupulously polite, and until that day, carefully distant. We had a big tent in which six or seven could sleep more or less comfortably. Four of them were in the tent with me, the rest busy with either the horses or guarding.
Nessaren sat cross-legged on her bedroll, tapping her letter against her knee. Finally she looked up. “Red, you and Snap go into Bularc. Falshalith is in charge of the garrison there—report in, say you’ve been on the search up in the hills, and you want an update.”
The red-haired fellow fingered the gold ring in his ear, then frowned. He glanced at me, then his gaze slid away. He said, “Think they’ll talk?”
The woman they called Snap twiddled her fingers. “Why not? The more ignorant we are, the more Falshalith will condescend.” Her brown eyes widened with false innocence. “After all, we’re only servants, right?”
Snap and the redhead glanced my way. Amol said, “More steep, my lady?”
“No, thanks.” I considered my next words.
For those first days it had taken all my energy just to keep up and not embarrass myself. But the regular food, and the rest, had restored a lot of my energy, and with it came curiosity.
I said tentatively, “You know, I have one or two questions…”
Amol’s eyelids lifted like he was thinking, Just one or two? and Snap took her underlip firmly between her teeth. She seemed to have the quickest temper, but she was also the first to laugh. Both of them turned expectantly to their captain, who said calmly, “Please feel free to ask, Lady Meliara. I’ll answer what I can.”
“Well, first, there’s that dungeon. Now, don’t think I’m complaining, but the last thing I remember is Shevraeth’s knife coming between me and a hot poker, you might say. I wake up with you, and we’re on the road, going southeast. Remalna-city is southwest. I take it I’m not on my way back to being a guest of Greedy Galdran?”
Snap’s head dropped quickly at the nickname for the king, as if to hide her laughter, but Amol snickered openly.
“No, my lady,” Nessaren said.
“Well, then, we’re heading for the border. If we’re going to Tlanth, we ought to be turning northeast.”
“We are not going to Tlanth, my lady.”
I said with a deep feeling of foreboding, “Can you tell me where we are going?”
“Yes, my lady. Home. To Renselaeus.”
Not home to me, I thought, but because they had been so decent, I bit the comment back and shook my head. “Why?”
“I do not know that. My orders were to bring you as quickly as was comfortable for you to travel.”
“I’d like to go home,” I said, as politely as I could.
Nessaren’s expression blanked, and I knew she was about to tell me I couldn’t.
I said quickly, “It’s not far. I need to see my brother, and let him know what has happened to me. He must be worried—he might even think me dead.”
At the words my brother her eyes flickered, otherwise there was no change in her expression. When I was done speaking she said quietly, with a hint of regret, “I am sorry, my lady. I have my orders.”
I tried once again. “A message to Branaric, then? Please. You can read it—you can write it—”
My first reaction was disbelief. Then I thought of that letter of thanks I’d planned on writing, and even though I had not told anyone, humiliation burned through me, followed by anger all the more bright for the sense of betrayal that underlay it all. Why betrayal? Shevraeth had never pretended to be on my side. Therefore he had saved my life purely for his own ends. Worse, my brother was somehow involved with his plans; I remembered Nessaren’s subtle reaction to his mention, and I wondered if there had been some sort of reference to Bran in that letter Nessaren had just received. What else could this mean but that I was again to be used to force my brother to surrender?
Fury had withered all my good feelings, but I was determined not to show any of it, and I sat with my gaze on my hands, which were gripped in my lap, until I felt that I had my emotions under control again.
When I realized that the silence had grown protracted, I forced a polite smile. “I don’t suppose you know where your marquis is?” I asked, striving for a tone of nonchalance.
A quick exchange of looks, then Nessaren said, “I cannot tell you exactly, for I do not know, but he said that if you were to ask, I was to tender his compliments and regrets, but say events required him to move quickly.”
And we’re not? I thought about us waiting out the rain, and those nice picnics, and realized that Nessaren had been watching me pretty carefully. It was no accident that we’d stopped for rests, then; Nessaren had very accurately gauged my strength. A fast run would have meant riding through rain and through nights, stopping only to change horses. We hadn’t had to do that.
Once again my emotions took a spin. I had had a taste of the way prisoners could be conveyed when the baron had me thrown over a saddle for the trip to Chovilun. Nessaren and her riding had made certain that my journey so far was as pleasant as they could make it.
Is this, I wondered acidly, possibly an attempt to win me to Shevraeth’s side in whatever game he’s playing with the king and the baron? Just the thought made me wild to face Shevraeth again and give him the benefit of my opinions.
But none of this could be shown now. My quarrel was not with Nessaren and the equerries, who were merely following orders. It was with their leader.
I glanced up. They seemed to be waiting. For a reaction?
“Anyone know a good song?” I asked.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Turned out this was the right question. Of the eight of them four played musical instruments, and Amol had a wonderful singing voice. They carried their instruments in their saddlebags, but in deference to me had not brought them out. After I made it clear I liked music, we had singing every night, and sometimes during long stretches of lonely country where no one else was about.
A lot of the songs were in Rensare, the very old dialect that apparently most of the people in the principality spoke. I knew little about Renselaeus, other than that it was a principality, a wealthy one, and for centuries had owed its allegiance directly to the ancient kingdom of Sartor, and only the most nominal allegiance to Remalna. Apparently one of our kings in the more recent past had won some kind of concession from the Renselaeus ruler, and in turn the Renselaeans had been granted the marquisate of Shevraeth, which lay on the coast in Remalna proper, hard against their border. This title went to the Renselaeus heir. The only things I knew about the prince and princess were that they were old, and that they had had a single heir late in life, the present marquis.
My companions couldn’t hide their surprise at my ignorance, but after I asked a few questions about the background of the songs, they started telling me about their homes, and life, and history. And though they assiduously stayed away from the vexing topic of current events, I garnered a few interesting facts—not only about their loyalty to the Renselaeus family instead of to the Merindar crown, but the fact that the principality seemed to have its own army. A very well trained one, too.
This became really clear when Amol and Jamni returned from their mission. Both were excited, Amol laughing. “Report went to the king that the mysterious attack on Chovilun was by mountain raiders,” he said.
“So my lord must have been right about those greens.” FIerac pulled thoughtfully at his thin mustache. Greens, I’d gathered, was their nickname for Galdran’s warriors.
“I’m glad we didn’t have to kill them,” Snap put in, rolling her eyes. “Those two in the dungeon were sick as old oatmeal about being ordered to stand duty during torture. I can tell when someone’s haystacking, and they weren’t.”
“What happened?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise. “I take it there was fighting when you people pulled me out of that Merindar fortress?”
They all turned to me, then to Nessaren, who said, “Some. We let some of them go, on oath they’d desert. There are plenty of greens who didn’t want to join, or wish they hadn’t.”
“What about that lumping snarlface of a baron?” I kept my voice as casual as possible, wondering what all this meant. Was Shevraeth, or was he not, Debegri’s ally? “I hope he got trounced.”
“He ran.” Flerac’s lip curled. “Came out, found his two bodyguards down, got out through some secret passage while we were trying to get in through another door. Don’t think he saw any of us. Don’t know, though.”
Then they were no longer allies. What did that mean? Was Shevraeth trying to take Debegri’s place in Galdran’s favor?
“Report could be false,” Amol said soberly.
Nessaren jerked her chin down in a decisive nod. “Let’s pick up our feet, shall we?”
By which they meant it was time to ride faster.
oOo
As we made our way steadily southward, their spirits lifted at the prospect of home, and leave-time to enjoy it. From remarks they let fall it seemed that the marquis had had them on duty day and night, with no breaks, during all the days of my run for freedom. I really liked Nessaren and her riding. With goodnatured generosity they treated me as a companion rather than as a prisoner. The last four mornings they even let me run through their morning sword drills with them. Some of it I knew from our own exercises with Khesot, but they had far better ones. I did my best to memorize the new material for taking to our people in Tlanth.
The problem was, I realized as we raced across the southern hills, I was still furious with their leader.
My duty was clear: I had to escape.
oOo
Our last night before crossing the border we spent in a well-stocked cave, tucked up high on a rocky hill near a waterfall. The roar of the water was soothing, and the moist, cool air felt great after a long, hot ride. Until we were settled in I didn’t notice that we were seven instead of nine, but as no one seemed concerned, I realized that two of them—tired as they must have been—had ridden on ahead.
As I rolled up in my sleeping bag, I felt an intense wave of homesickness. How many times had I camped out in such places, high up in Tlanth? The sounds and smells of home permeated my dreams, making me wake up in a restless mood.
I was still restless when we rode over the bridge that spanned the river border, restless and angry and apprehensive by turns. Not long after we crossed the border we stopped at an outpost, and there changed horses. Nessaren and the others all wanted to ride flat out for the capital. I wasn’t asked my opinion.
Don’t think I wasn’t on the watch for a chance to peel off, but if anything their formation was now even tighter around me. I don’t think it was even conscious—but there it was, I had about as much chance of getting away from them as a lone chicken had from a family of foxes.
Our road skirted a city built against a mountain. Over the next day or two I caught glimpses of the terraced capital between cultivated hills. At the highest level was a castle, built on either side of a spectacular waterfall. An equally
fantastic bridge lined with old trees crossed from one side to the other.
The castle slid out of sight as we rounded a hill and started up a road whose stones were worn smooth with age. Sentries in blue and black-and-white saluted us. They thought I was one of them! Though no one even glanced twice at me, I felt more uncomfortable than ever.
After an uphill ride we emerged into a courtyard, horses’ hooves clattering. The two members of the riding who’d left the night before came running out, along with several other people, all in the Renselaeus livery; some were in battle tunics, like Nessaren, and some in the shorter tunics and loose trousers of civilian wear.
Two of these latter came forward, looking confused. With a smile—and accompanied by laughs from the others—Yora Nessaren indicated me. The two servants bowed respectfully. “Will you honor us by following this way, my lady?”
The others were chattering happily, exchanging news as they unloaded the horses. Soon they were out of earshot, and I walked with silent servants up a hallway. They were on either side of me, just out of reach, which diminished my chances of tripping them and scooting away. All right, then, I decided, I will have to make my break after whatever unpleasant interview is awaiting me.
The hallway led to a circular stairway with two or three doors at each landing. After several rounds we entered a very different type of hallway. Instead of the usual stone, or the tile of the wealthy, the floors were of exceptionally fine mosaic in a complicated pattern. Along one wall were high, arched windows with diamond-shaped panes of clear glass overlooking the terraced city below. It was an impressive sight.
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