Authors: Daniel Hardman
Cordimancy (23 page)
Malena
stood, half expecting to feel stiff. However, despite hours plodding along narrow paths in the mountains as the sun moved west, her legs and feet felt as fresh as when they’d begun their march in the morning. The odd sensation of vigor that she’d felt ever since her healing continued to linger.
Paka and Shivi were less comfortable. They’d dismounted with creaks and groans when they stopped to water the horses, and after a quarter hour of stretching, they still looked pained.
She approached the older woman and held out the woven rushes she’d been working since morning.
“It’s not much of a hat, I’m afraid,” Malena said. “You of all people would know that.”
Shivi looked from Malena’s hands to her face and smiled warmly. “The shade will be welcome tomorrow. Thank you.” She ran fingertips along the brim and pursed her lips. “You used the plowman’s weave here.”
Malena nodded. “I tried, anyway.”
“It’s a good choice for holding an edge together; the twist locks the bend when it dries. But it’s not a common technique in Kelun mountains. Did someone teach you?”
Malena shrugged. “I saw it in some baskets when I was young. It was interesting, so I found the pattern in a book and practiced until it looked right. But this is the first time I’ve done it for other eyes.”
“You practiced well,” said Shivi, allowing the hat to settle on her head.
It sank over her eyebrows.
“I guess I should have measured first,” Malena said, feeling that her gift was every bit as ridiculous as Shivi looked.
Behind her, Paka had ceased humming and laid aside his sitar with a plunk. Now he transformed a snort into a cough.
“Don’t mind him,” Shivi said primly, as she bent a coil of her silver braid into Malena’s clumsy hat to take up space. “Every weaver makes mistakes. I know I’ve made plenty.”
Paka put a hand on Malena’s shoulder. The corner of his eyes crinkled, and his beard lifted at the edges of his mouth.
“Actually,” he said, leaning over to kiss the tip of his wife’s nose. “I was thinkin’ that with a brim like that, my wife can get away with all the steamy winkin’ she wants, and nobody but me the wiser.”
And he turned and coughed again.
Much later that night, Malena
sat up. She’d been hoping—for hours, it felt like—that sleep would come and give her respite from unhappy thoughts. Her eyelids hung heavy.
But sleep would not take hold.
A swath of stars hung overhead. Maybe she didn’t have Toril’s experience navigating by constellations on extended marches, but she’d studied. She picked out The Macaque without difficulty; just above its tail, another bright arc formed a wing of The Owl.
She’d read that sailors didn’t see The Owl from the southern hemisphere; apparently they navigated by a constellation called Rezi’s Sword. Once, she’d imagined traveling to far-off places, seeing different night skies like that with her own eyes. Those dreams seemed distant, now—not that she no longer wanted them, but she no longer saw herself as the sort of person who would get anything she hoped for.
A voice in her heart reacted angrily to that. Had she given up on all her hopes, then?
Had she?
Toril snored softly, a couple arm-lengths away. He was too close for comfort—but that would have been true even if he’d stayed across the campfire.
What, exactly, made her feel so ill at ease with the bond between them?
Part of it, she thought, was the way he’d jumped in to rescue, when she had asked him not to. It felt patronizing, offended her expectation for independence. Wasn’t she capable of deciding what was best for herself? What gave him the right to meddle? Did she want a husband who ran rough-shod over her feelings like that?
He’d caused this mess in the first place, by leaving her alone and provoking Gorumim to strike.
She shook her head. No, that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t even accurate. She might be angry at how he’d tried to fix things, but he had not been negligent. She didn’t really even believe he’d been prideful—just battered by a whirlwind of malice, the same as her.
Could she really believe in the wrongness of Toril’s rescue, even? If he’d left her to die, who would be trying to rescue children now? What hope would Tupa have? She’d reproached herself for cowering in the stable; wasn’t her embracing death a similar form of hiding? Was it cruel of this unfamiliar man to pull her back into life, with all its tears and demands—or was it just… what had to be done?
Maybe what hurt her most was his motivation. Yes, he’d sacrificed to yank her back from the brink of death—but had he really done it unselfishly? Now he expected her thanks, her closeness. Her future. Her partnership...
Her body.
She tried to force herself to examine that thought dispassionately, juxtaposing Toril and the evil men who’d taken from her without her consent. Did she believe a husband’s touch could be different from a brute’s—or were they just different variants of the same selfish cruelty? Would her heart ignore the stance her mind took on that question?
Without warning, her stomach lurched, and she leaned over and retched. Nothing came up.
When the trembling subsided, she took some deep breaths and wiped one eye with a knuckle.
She studied the shadows the moon cast across her husband’s face. The shadow below one cheekbone gave him a gaunt look. The muscles of his lips and cheeks slumped in a mask of exhaustion, dead to the world. His head rested on the shoulder of one outstretched arm. It made a poor pillow; his neck bent at an angle that augured stiffness in the morning.
Impulsively, she reached for one of her knee-high boots. Her hands worked the leather into a roll with the sole inside. She leaned, slid fingers beneath Toril’s ear, lifted his head, and inserted the makeshift cushion.
The rhythm of Toril’s breathing did not change, but his snores faded.
Malena reclined again. Hika, stretched nearby, looked up and thumped her tail once. Malena pulled the dog close and buried her face in fur, comforted by the animal’s pure acceptance. After a time the steadiness of her husband’s soft intake and outflow of air blunted the howls of her mental demons, and she slept.
“
Soldiers
! There. Down at the mouth of the canyon.”
Toril squinted in the direction of Oji’s outflung arm, lifting a hand to his eyebrow to block the lowering sun. “Are you sure?”
Malena was already sliding out of the saddle.
Oji nodded. “I see a cart or wagon, as well.”
Toril prodded his horse toward the edge of the switchback, where a trio of birches softened the glare. He was careful not to ride out into the gap where he’d be visible from a distance. “I make out a few dots, maybe... I don’t see how you can tell more, at this distance.”
“It’s them,” Malena announced with finality. She stretched prone on a knob of granite, peering intently, not looking up as Shivi and Paka’s horse plodded to a stop beside her.
Toril swung out of the saddle. “How far ahead would you guess they are?” he asked Oji.
“Half a league, maybe, as the crow flies. Several times that, by way of the trail.”
“We passed out of Kelun holdings a few hours ago, and I haven’t travelled this way for years, so my geography’s a bit fuzzy. But I think we might beat them to town, if we keep riding hard. The sun will be down in an hour; they’re bound to stop for the night.”
Paka groaned.
“I could ride ahead,” Toril offered. He looked sideways at his wife. “With Malena. I know this pace is wearing you out. You could follow. If I can scare up a posse, your help with children won’t be as urgent.”
Shivi was already shaking her head. “One of the caves we rode past an hour ago stank of rakshasas. I heard a bear grunting in a patch of blackberries this morning. We’re too small of a group as it is, for this wild country.”
“My old bones are achin’,” Paka said. “Don’t begrudge me a complaint or two. But I suppose the missus is right.”
Toril opened his mouth to argue.
“How are we going to get around Gorumim?” Malena cut in. “The valley beyond the canyon looks narrow. Woods grow almost all the way down to the river. The trail’s the only way through, and Gorumim will camp right beside it.”
“When they’re asleep, we could sneak...” Toril began.
Oji was already shaking his head. “You might get past a human sentry, but there’s no way you’ll slip past ahu. I might do it, but not humans. Especially not humans on horses.”
“We could go around the other side of the mountain,” Paka offered.
“Way too far,” said Oji. “We couldn’t get back to the river by morning. Even if we did, Gorumim would be on the move again, and we’d be exhausted.”
“Abandon the trail and go through the woods?” suggested Shivi.
“Moon won’t be up till halfway through the night,” Toril said. “Before then, it’ll be pitch black. And the trees are so dense and tangled that we’d never get the horses through. No stars to navigate by.”
Oji smiled thinly. “I always know north; a lot of osipi have a sense for direction. Getting lost would not be our problem. But you’re right about slow progress.”
“Then we need a distraction,” Malena said. “What if Toril picked a strategic spot and started lobbing rocks with his sling? If he could spook a few of their horses...”
“If Toril’s within sling range, he’s too close to get away when the ahu start searching,” said Shivi. “In the dark, they might not guess his location right away, but sooner or later they’d pick up his scent.”
“The stonecaster’s scent isn’t the issue,” Oji said. “There are plenty of men with Gorumim; another won’t be easy to distinguish. But let them get a whiff of Malena, and they’ll home in like hounds.” He noticed that the others were staring at him curiously, and he flushed. “I told you I could smell a beautiful woman.”
Malena colored.
“What about fire?” Shivi suggested. “We don’t have to stay near it, once it’s lit, and smoke might cover our scent. Might be even better than the sling for spooking the horses.”
“I seem to remember you warning me about sparks finding more fuel than the kindler intends,” Toril said slowly.
“It’s a risk,” Oji agreed. “If we make it big enough to draw them, it’ll be big enough to burn all dead wood nearby. The rain we’ve had will probably help, but once a fire’s lit, there’s no telling where it burns.”
“If it really gets out of control, it could kill the children,” Malena added. “Or us.”
“If we don’t get past Gorumim tonight, the children may not survive anyway,” said Paka soberly.
“We’ll use the fire
and
the sling,” Toril said. “Both. If this breeze holds, we’ll be downwind all the way. Being quiet and careful, we should be able to get pretty close. I’ll pick a good spot to shoot from. Oji will find a tree off in the other direction—maybe up on a ridge, where it’s a bit isolated, and highly visible. Or a couple of trees, even. As soon as I rile up the camp, he’ll use his torch to pull them away. We’ll ride past.”
He turned to Shivi. “If it looks risky, Paka and Shivi can stay back with the pony, and Malena and I will take the two horses. In a race, at least we have a fair chance.”
Shivi folded her arms, looking unhappy.
“I know you want to stick together, but if it comes down to speed, I think you’re safer dawdling behind, unseen,” Toril added.
Oji pursed his lips. “Even if they don’t notice you at first, they’ll figure it out and follow you.”
“We’ll have an ahu waiting to ambush anybody on our tail,” Toril said, nodding at Oji. “Sprint for the river road as soon as you light the fire. You can be the rear guard. Once the moon comes up, I can also pick them off with the sling, if I have a bit of a lead.”
“I have a different concern,” Malena said. “We’re dealing with the most experienced general in all of Zufa—veteran of more campaigns that you studied in all your history lessons. Do you really think he’s going to lose his head over a simple distraction like this?”
Toril opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. Finally he spread his hands wide. “Do you have a better idea?”
Kinora
started. The pebble she’d intended for the corner of the quattroglyph dropped from her fingers into the grass.
“I said, get over here!” the soldier snarled again. He took three quick strides and seized her hair in a fist. “We don’t have time for you to daydream!”
Kinora twisted to draw his gaze away from the rocks. “I... I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I just didn’t want to get back on the horse, yet. I’m so sore.”
“Be glad you’re riding, brat,” grunted the soldier, releasing her hair with a shove that made her stumble.
Kinora felt a booted toe smash into one thigh. She stifled a whimper and collapsed onto hands and knees, tears distorting her vision. Her leg hurt. Yet as no further violence followed, her heartbeat began to slow. She’d taken abuse before; as long as the soldier didn’t notice her rocks, she could survive bruises. She swiped at her cheek, crawled through meadow weeds, and pulled herself upright by the stirrup.
Most of the children were too cowed to watch. Some of the little ones were so numbed by shock that the behavior of their fellow sufferers held no interest; they just stared straight ahead, mute. But she noticed one of the older girls who was already on horseback, gazing at the spot where Kinora had squatted in the grass.
Don’t look!
Kinora wanted to scream.
Gorumim had been talking with Luim, the leader of the osipi, but she no longer saw them in the distance.
Don’t look!
The soldier seemed clueless. He had followed her to the horse; now he hoisted her roughly. The smell of onions and wine on his breath conjured vivid memories of encounters with her stepfather emerging from the tavern. She gritted her teeth and clambered into the saddle.
She hoped the quattroglyph was right. It had to be; the thought that she’d risked so much to spell nonsense was enough to set her lip aquiver. Years ago, her father—the real one, not the harsh taskmaster who’d replaced him—had taught Kinora how to read a handful of the symbols favored by hunters and shepherds, during their happy meanders on the hillsides above town. Practice making the four-part shape for “help” under his tutelage was one of the few memories she retained from that time.
She gripped the mane in front of her and blinked, hard.
“There’s good cover where the trail jogs, just past the bend in the river,” said a voice. “We’ll head downstream another league or so to draw them past you. Your scouts found us a spot to camp.”
Kinora started.
Gorumim was only a few paces away, walking in her direction.
All of a sudden her mouth felt dry as cotton.
Don’t look!
“We could ambush them anywhere,” Luim rasped. “Half-sight humans don’t notice anything.” He spat in the grass.
“Are you always this cocky?” Gorumim responded coldly. “Whoever they are, they survived my rakshasa, a mob of bandits, and the blackest magic. One must be ahu; the oreni said he killed most of the wolves with his bare hands.”
Now the leaping in Kinora’s heart was driven by hope. Someone was following? Someone that worried her captors? Was it the friendly face of gold that she’d seen before—the one happy thought to haunt her dreams? Or someone else?
Luim touched his ivona and shrugged. “Only the best become ahu, but even if a warrior of that stature is following us, he will die by my blade. I walk in aiki.”
Gorumim stopped walking, turned to his short companion, and jabbed a finger at his chest.
“I’m leaving
all
of you, not just one aiki ahu to prove his prowess in a noble solo act. Do you understand?”
Luim stared back at Gorumim.
“Put arrows between their shoulders,” Gorumim continued. “Or slit their throats from behind. Overwhelm them with numbers, if you have to. I don’t care if it’s ugly. I just care that it gets done.”
Suddenly Luim was at Gorumim’s back, his dagger resting below one of the taller man’s ears.
There was no in-between state, no sense of motion; just a disjoint before and after.
“I am not your errand boy,” Luim hissed. “And I am tired of your disrespect. I need no fighting instructions from you.”
“So drive in the blade, then,” Gorumim said softly. When Luim remained motionless, he rolled his eyes. “You want to prove your point? Go ahead. Just a little nick. Did you hear me shield myself?”
Luim’s forearm twitched, and the blade melted into slag. He dropped the handle with a curse.
Gorumim turned, his lips curving.
“As I said before, I do not claim to be the equal of an ahu in battle. You least of all, Luim. However, I have studied the protective spells around our royal family for long enough to acquire certain secrets. You will never find it useful to threaten me with a blade.”
Gorumim glanced along the column to inventory the soldiers and the golden who were gawking. “I apologize if I have seemed arrogant. What we do now is the fruition of a century of planning and hard work—for me
and
for the People. It leaves me on edge. If I am to give you the lifespan of a sata, I need the help of my clan brothers.”
His voice seemed to grow warm and rich as he finished, and Kinora felt a jolt of grandiose purpose, and loyalty, that left her stunned. For a second she actually
loved
this man—this terrifying, white-haired monster. What kind of magic could this man work?
Then she remembered her own part in Gorumim’s plan.
“We’ll wait. And kill.” Luim said, his eyes slightly glazed.
“Good,” Gorumim said, his lips curving. “I just saw them riding out of the canyon with my spyglass, so they’ll come through here at dusk. They’ll be in a hurry. And after they see the breadcrumbs our little urchin has left, they’ll be careless. Watch the trail like a hawk.”
He turned toward Kinora, caught her gaze, and winked.