The crowds thinned as she reached the edge of the open-air market. The temporary lane she was on dwindled to nothing as it reached the last stall, occupied by a lanky man selling leather tack and piles of used wagon fittings. There was nothing beyond his heavily loaded wagon full of pieces and parts but desolate open land. An endless file of people moved along the road going south. She could see a haze of dust in the air marking the more distant sections of the road south, along with others branching off to the southwest and southeast. No road went west.
A few people at the fringe of the marketplace glanced her way as she struck out, alone, toward the lowering sun. While some people might have looked her way, none followed into the wasteland that was the Azrith Plains. Jennsen was relieved to be alone. Being around people had proven as dangerous as she had always feared. The market scene was quickly left behind as she marched west.
Jennsen slid her hand in under her cloak, feeling the reassuring presence of her knife. Lying against her body, it was warm to the touch, as if it were a living thing, rather than silver and steel.
At least the thief had taken her money and not her knife. Given a choice of the two, she would rather have the knife. She had lived her whole life without much money, her and her mother providing for themselves. But a knife was vital to that means of survival. If you lived in a palace, you needed money. If you lived out-of-doors, you needed a knife, and she had never seen a better knife than this one, despite its provenience.
Her fingers idly traced the ornate letter “R” on the silver handle. Some people needed a knife even if they lived in a palace, she guessed.
She turned back to look, and was relieved to see that no one followed her. The plateau had shrunk in the distance, until all the people below it looked like slow little ants moving about. It was good to be away from the place, but she knew she would have to return, after seeing Althea, if she was to rescue Sebastian.
As she walked backward for a spell to gain a reprieve from the icy wind in her face, her gaze rose along the road switching back and forth up the steep cliffs, to the massive stone wall surrounding the palace itself. Coming in from the south, she hadn’t seen the road. At one place along its length a bridge spanned a particularly treacherous gap in the rock. The bridge was pulled up. As if the cliff itself were not deterrent enough, the high stone walls around the People’s Palace would defeat any attempt to get inside unless you were allowed in.
She hoped it would not be that hard to get in to see Althea.
Somewhere in that vast complex, Sebastian was held prisoner. She wondered if he thought himself forever abandoned, as Betty probably did. She whispered a prayer to the good spirits asking that he not give up hope, and that the good spirits somehow let him know she was going to get him out.
When she tired of walking backward, and of seeing the People’s Palace, she turned around. Then, she had to endure the wind buffeting her, sometimes ripping the breath right out of her mouth. Sharp gusts kicked the dry gritty ground up into her eyes.
The land was flat, dry, and featureless, mostly hardpan cut through here and there with a swath of coarse sandy soil. In places, the tawny landscape was stained a darker brown, as if strong tea had been stirred through. There was only occasional vegetation, and that was a low, scruffy plant, now winter brown and brittle.
Gathered to the west lay a ragged line of mountains. The one in the center looked like it might have snow on top, but it was hard to tell against the sun. She had no guess at how far it was. Being unfamiliar with such land, she found it difficult to judge distances out on the plain. It could be hours, or even days, for all she knew. At least she didn’t have to trudge through snow, as they often had to do on their way up to the People’s Palace.
Jennsen realized that, even in winter, she was going to need water. She guessed that in a swamp there would be water aplenty. She realized, too, that the woman who had given her directions said that it was a long way, but hadn’t described what was to her a long way. Maybe to her a long way was what Jennsen would consider only a brisk walk of a few hours. Maybe the woman had meant days. Jennsen whispered a prayer under her breath that it wouldn’t be days, even though she didn’t at all relish the idea of going into a swamp.
When a sound rose to rattle through the wind, she turned and saw a plume of dust rising in the distance behind her. She squinted, finally recognizing that it was a wagon coming her way.
Jennsen turned all the way around, scanning the barren country trying to see if there was any place she could hide. She didn’t like the idea of being caught out in the open all alone. It occurred to her that men from back in the open-air market might have watched her leave, and then planned to wait until she was all alone, with no one around, to come out and attack her.
She started running. Since the wagon was coming from the palace, she ran the direction she had been walking—west—toward the dark slash of mountains. As she ran, she sucked frigid gasps of air so cold it hurt her throat. The plain stretched out before her, without so much as a crack to hide in. She focused on the dark line of mountains, running for them with all her effort, but even as she ran, she knew they were too far.
Before long, Jennsen forced herself to stop. She was acting foolish. She couldn’t outrun horses. She bent at her waist, hands on her thighs, catching her breath, watching the wagon come for her. If someone was coming out to attack her, then running, using up her strength, was about as senseless a thing as she could do.
She turned back to face the sun and kept walking, but at a pace that wouldn’t wear her out. If she was going to have to fight, she should at least not be winded. Maybe it was only someone going home, and they would turn in a different direction. She had only spotted them because of the noise of the wagon and the dust it raised. They probably didn’t even see her walking.
The chilling thought washed through her: maybe a Mord-Sith had already tortured a confession out of Sebastian. Maybe one of those merciless women had already broken him. She feared to think what she would do if someone were methodically going about snapping her bones in two. Jennsen could not honestly say what she would do under such excruciating torture.
Maybe, under unendurable agony, he had given them Jennsen’s name. He knew all about her. He knew Darken Rahl was her father. He knew Richard Rahl was her half brother. He knew she wanted to go to the sorceress for help.
Maybe they had promised him they would stop if Sebastian gave her up. Could she blame him for a betrayal under such conditions?
Maybe the wagon racing toward her was full of big, grim, D’Haran soldiers come to capture her. Maybe the nightmare was only about to begin in earnest. Maybe this was the day she lived in fear of.
As tears of fright stung her eyes, Jennsen slipped her hand under her cloak and checked to be sure that her knife was free in its scabbard. She lifted it slightly, then pushed it back down, feeling its reassuring metallic click as it seated in its sheath.
The minutes dragged as she walked, waiting for the wagon to catch her. She fought to keep her fear in check and tried to run through in her mind everything her mother had taught her about using a knife. Jennsen was alone, but she was not helpless. She knew what to do. She told herself to remember that.
If there were too many men, though, nothing would help her. She recalled only too vividly how the men at her house had grabbed her, and how helpless she had then been. They had caught her by surprise, but, of course, it mattered not how, really—they had caught her. That was all that mattered. If not for Sebastian…
When she turned again to check, the wagon was bearing down on her. She planted her feet, keeping her cloak lifted open slightly so she could reach in and snatch her knife, surprising her attacker. Surprise could be her valuable ally, too, and the only one she could hope to summon.
She saw, then, a lopsided grin of straight teeth beaming at her. The big blond man drew his wagon close, scattering gravel and raising dust. As he set the brake, the dust drifted away. It was the man from market, the man be
side Irma’s place, the man who had given her the drink of wine. He was alone.
Unsure of his intent, Jennsen kept her tone curt and her knife hand at the ready. “What are you doing out here?”
He still wore the grin. “I came out to give you a ride.”
“What about your brothers?”
“I left them back at the palace.”
Jennsen didn’t trust him. He had no reason to come give her a ride. “Thank you, but I think you had better go back to your own business.” She started walking.
He hopped down off the wagon, landing with a thud. She turned to be ready, should he come at her.
“Look, I wouldn’t feel right about it,” he said.
“About what?”
“I could never forgive myself if I just stood by and let you go out here to your death—which is what it will be with no food, no water, no nothing. I thought about what you said, that there are some things that you have to do, or else life means nothing and isn’t worth living. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew you were out here going to your death.” His tenacity faltered and his voice turned more pleading. “Come on, climb up in the wagon and let me give you a ride?”
“What about your brothers? Before I found out I’d lost my money, you wouldn’t rent me a horse because you said you had to get back.”
He hooked a thumb behind his belt, resigned to having to explain himself. “Well, we’ve been doing so well at selling wine today that we made a goodly sum. Joe and Clayton were wanting to stay at the palace, anyway, and have a little fun for a change. It was that Irma, selling her spicy sausages right beside us, that did it.” He shrugged. “So, since she helped us do so well, it gives me a chance to come help you. Since she took your horses and supplies, I figure that giving you a ride is the least I can do. Kind of makes it even out a little. It’s just a ride. It’s not like I’m risking my life or something. Just a bit of help I’m offering someone who I know needs it.”
Jennsen surely could use help, but she feared to trust this stranger.
“I’m Tom,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I’d be grateful if you would let me do this to help you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like you said—some things you have to do to make life a little more meaningful.” The briefest of glances took in her ringlets of red hair beneath the cloak’s hood before turning solemn. “That’s the way it would make me feel…grateful to have done something like that.”
She broke the gaze first. “I’m Jennsen. But I don’t—”
“Come along, then. I have some wine—”
“I don’t like wine. It only makes me thirsty.”
He shrugged. “I have plenty of water. I brought along some meat pies, too. They’re still hot, I bet, if you hurry and have some now.”
She studied his blue eyes, blue like her bastard father’s. Even so, this man’s eyes had a simple sincerity about them. His smile wasn’t cocky, but modest.
“Don’t you have a wife to get back to?”
This time, it was Tom who broke the gaze to look at the ground. “No, ma’am. I’m not married. I travel around a lot. I don’t imagine a woman would much take to that kind of life. Besides, it doesn’t afford me much of a chance to come to know anyone well enough to be thinking about marriage. Someday, though, I dearly hope to find a woman who would want to share life with me, a woman who makes me smile, a woman I can live up to.”
Jennsen was surprised to see that the very question made his face go red. It seemed to her as if his boldness in talking to her and offering her this ride might be more forward than was his customary conduct. As affable as he was, he appeared painfully shy. Something about a man that big and strong being intimidated by her, a lone woman in the middle of nowhere, by her question about matters of the heart, put her at ease.
“If I’m not harming you, your business at earning a living—”
“No,” he put in. “No, you’re not—not at all.” He gestured back toward the plateau. “We made a good profit today and we can afford a short rest. My brothers don’t mind at all. We travel all over and buy whatever goods we can find at a reasonable price, everything from wine, to carpets, to spring chickens, and then we haul it back here to sell. It would really be doing my brothers a favor, giving them a break.”
Jennsen nodded. “I could use the ride, Tom.”
He turned serious. “I know. A man’s life is at stake.”
Tom scrambled up onto the wagon and held down a hand. “Careful, ma’am.”
She took his big hand and put a boot in the iron rung. “I’m Jennsen.”
“So you said, ma’am.” He gently drew her up to the seat.
As soon as she was seated, he pulled a blanket from behind and placed it in a pile in her lap, apparently not wanting to be so presumptuous as to spread it out over her. As she arranged it on her lap, she smiled her appreciation for the warm wool cover. Reaching behind again, he rooted around under a pile of well-worn packing blankets and came up with a small bundle. Tom grinned his lopsided smile as he presented her with the pie wrapped in a white cloth. He was as good as his word; it was still warm. He recovered a waterskin, too, and set it on the seat between them.
“If you’d prefer, you can ride in back. I brought plenty of blankets to keep you warm, and they might be more comfortable to sit on than a wooden seat.”
“I’m fine up here for now,” she said. She lifted the pie in gesture. “When I get my supplies back, and my money, I want to pay you back for everything. You keep a tally, and I’ll pay you back for it all.”
He released the brake and flicked the reins. “If that’s your wish, but I don’t expect it.”
“I do,” she said as the wagon lurched ahead.
As soon as they were under way, he turned from her westerly course to a more northwest line.
She instantly reverted to her suspicion. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”
He looked a little startled at her renewed mistrust. “You said you wanted to go to Althea’s, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I was told to go west until I reached the tallest snowcapped mountain, and then on the other side to turn north and follow cliffs—”
“Oh,” he said, realizing then what she was thinking and why. “That’s if you want it to take an extra day.”
“Why would that woman tell me to go a way that would take more time?”
“Probably because that’s the way everyone goes to Althea’s and she didn’t know you were in a hurry.”
“Why send people that way, if it takes more time?”
“People go that way because they fear the swamp. That way puts you in closest to Althea’s at the end, meaning you have to go through the least amount of the swamp. It was probably the only way she knew about.”
Jennsen had to grab the rail for support as the wagon bounced over a crease in the rocky ground. He was right, the wooden seat was hard sitting and with a wagon made for hauling heavy loads, it bounced more when empty.
“But, shouldn’t I fear the swamp, too?” she finally asked.
“I suppose.”
“Well then, why should I go this other way?”
He looked over, again, taking the briefest glance at her hair. It was a behavior she was used to. Most people couldn’t help but to look.
“You said a man’s life was at stake,” he said, his timidity gone. “It takes a lot less time this way, cutting the corner off the route by going this side of that peak she told you about and not having to go up that twisting canyon beneath the cliffs. The problem is, you have to go in the swamp from the back, so you’ll have more of the swamp to go through to get in to Althea’s.”
“And that doesn’t take more time, going through more swamp?”
“Yes, but even with having to go through more swamp, I’m betting you’ll still save a day each way. That’s two days saved.”
Jennsen didn’t like swamps. More to the point, she didn’t like the kinds of things tha
t lived in swamps.
“Is it much more dangerous?”
“You wouldn’t strike out alone with no supplies if it wasn’t pretty important—a matter of life and death. If you were willing to risk your life to do that, then I figured you’d be looking to save any time you can. If you’d rather, though, I can take you the long way, with less distance through the swamp. Up to you, but if time is important, it’s two days more by going that way.”
“No, you’re right.” The meat pie on her lap was warm. It felt good to have her fingers around it. He was a thoughtful man for bringing it. “Thank you, Tom, for thinking to save time.”
“Who is it that’s at the other end of life and death?”
“A friend,” she said.
“Must be a good friend.”
“I’d be dead, now, if not for him.”
He was silent as they rolled toward the dark band of mountains in the distance. She brooded about what might lie in the swamp. Worse, she worried about what would happen to Sebastian if she didn’t get Althea’s help soon enough.
“How long?” Jennsen asked. “How long till we get to the swamp?”
“Depends on how much snow is in the pass, and on a few other things. I don’t go this way often, so I can’t say for sure. If we ride all night, though, I’m reasonably sure we can be to the back reaches of the swamp by morning.”
“How long to get to Althea’s, then. Through the swamp, I mean.”
He glanced over uneasily. “Sorry, Jennsen, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve never been in Althea’s swamp before.”
“Any guess?”
“Just knowing the lay of the land, I don’t think it should take more than a day to go in and come back, but I’m guessing. And that doesn’t count how much time you’ll be spending in there with Althea.” His uneasiness returned. “I’ll get you in to Althea’s as quickly as I can.”
Jennsen had to talk to Althea about the Lord Rahl—both her father, and the present Lord Rahl, Richard, her half brother. It would not be good if Tom were to discover who she was, or her purpose. His helpfulness would evaporate, at the least. She also thought that a reason for him to stay behind might be in order, lest he get suspicious.
The Pillars of Creation Page 20