Nightblade: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 1) (6 page)

She looked upon the road again. Now she could see a caravan sat upon it, wagons pulled into a rough line. People in bright clothing sat clustered in a group at the front. Men in shirts of mail and shining helms stood guard around them.
 

But the back of the caravan lay unattended.

Loren made for the tree line. Many yards of open space stretched between forest and wagons, but that could not be helped. If she could make it to one of the wagons unseen . . .

The closest guard turned and walked away. Loren seized her chance. She broke from the trees and raced across the rocky ground, as fast as she dared while staying deadly silent. Her cowl flew back, raven hair streaming in her wake.

She expected to hear a cry of alarm or the sound of drawn steel. None came. Loren reached the back of the rearmost wagon and slipped down the line to the third from the last. Still no one in sight. Without a sound, she leapt up and over the wagon’s edge to the shadows within.

eight

Loren’s hasty eyes inspected her surroundings. Bolts of cloth lay on wooden shelves lining either side of the wagon, and a thin aisle ran up the center.

A merchant’s caravan. Loren hoped that would help. From what she knew of the rich, they did not appreciate the eyes of the law and had skill at turning them away. But even a cursory look would find her here. The merchants had packed their racks too tightly for Loren to slip in among them.

She almost turned and left but heard footsteps in the dirt nearby. Her heart skipped a beat, and she burrowed farther down the aisle. Then Loren saw that she had been wrong: One shelf near the wagon’s front lay empty in the shadows. She slid into the shelf, squeezing as far from the aisle as she could manage.

A great bellow sounded outside, followed by the hiss of drawn steel. For a moment, Loren feared she had been discovered. But the sounds retreated, and she realized the caravan had spotted the constables. Hooves approached and pulled to a stop not far from her wagon.

Loren heard Corin’s burbling voice: “We are the King’s men, about his business.”
 

“And what business has the King with us?” came a sharp reply—a woman’s voice.

Bern spoke. “We pursue a man and a girl. They fled us south on the King’s road. We spotted the girl on that ridge. She may have come among you.”

“No girl came,” said the woman. “We have seen no one since yesterday. Who is this man you seek?”

“He is between our heights,” said Bern. “He may have worn a blue coat, or a dark green cloak. His hair hangs long and curled.”

“We saw him, or one like him,” said the woman.

Loren put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

“When?” said Corin.

“Yesterday. Just after the sun had set. He came upon our camp at night and offered us fair payment for a horse. He refused to rest the night, though we offered him hospitality. Instead, he rode on, south along this road.”

The constables remained silent through a long moment, or if they spoke Loren could not capture their words.

“He did not have a girl with him?” Corin said at last. “She would have been young, in forester’s garb.”

“Of course he didn’t,” said Bern. “We just saw her.”

“No one came with him,” said the woman. “Alone he arrived, and alone he left. Nor have we seen any other since. If you pursued him, I am sorry to have sold him the horse, but we could not have known he deserved justice.”

“Of course, my lady,” said Corin. “Last night, you say?”

“I do.”

“Then we must be on our way. We thank you—”

“Hold,” said Bern. “The girl is near.”

Again, they fell quiet, though this time Loren felt sure the constables must be speaking softly. That proved true, as their voices gradually swelled in anger. Finally, Bern spoke again, loud and clear.

“If you have not seen her, it will not matter if we search your wagons.”

“They carry only goods for trade,” said the woman, indignant.

“My stalwart friend is perhaps overeager,” Corin spoke, his anger barely in check. “But mayhap the girl arrived without your knowledge and stowed herself away.”

Loren searched around her in panic. They might not see her from the wagon’s rear, but then again they might, and if they entered they would find her for certain.

“Come now,” said the woman. “Our guards stand vigilant. She is not here.”

“Let us see, then.” Bern’s voice had found a nasty edge that Loren did not like.

Her eyes roved again over the wagon’s interior but failed to find a better hiding place. Yet as she glanced at the floor, her eye snagged a shaft of sunlight upon a board protruding from it. She leaned out and gripped it with her fingers. The board sat loose. Loren lifted, and a large panel rose silently.

Beneath lay a compartment, cunningly hidden. Several packages sat within, swaddled in brown cloth. But more important, plenty of space remained for Loren to hide herself. Like a snake she slid into the compartment and soundlessly lowered the panel upon all her fingers. She could not be sure it lay flush, but she could do no better.

She heard the constables move down the caravan toward her wagon, drawing nearer. She heard a gruff snort, and the wagon shook. Heavy boots thudded onto its floor, and Loren barely kept from yelping in fright.

Loren spied Bern’s grim features through cracks in the panel. The constable walked the wagon’s length, peering into every corner and sticking his nose right into the shelf where Loren had hidden. After a moment, he turned and stalked toward the wagon’s rear. Then the whole thing shook again as he clambered out.

The constables moved slowly away while Loren waited for twenty minutes that felt like an eon. At long last, she heard conversation again, though too far off to decipher, followed by the thunder of galloping hooves. Still, she waited for some clue or sign of safety.

Instead, she heard voices. One a man’s, deep and booming. The other belonged to the woman she had earlier heard.

“They found none of the compartments?” the woman said.

“None, my lady,” replied the guard. “I followed him every moment. He never so much as glanced at his feet.”

“That is good. Though too close a thing regardless. I care not for surprises.”

“Nor I, my lady,” said the man.

Their conversation ceased. Loren thought they must have moved away. After a few minutes of silence, she reached up to lift the panel away. A quick glance told her no one stood behind the wagon to see. She slid out of the compartment, replaced the panel, and crept to the back of the wagon.

Guards now stood in thin-stretched rows down both sides of the caravan, eyes turned outward. Her escape would prove more difficult than her arrival.
 

But as Loren surveyed their positions, trying to work out the best angle to leave, a child appeared from nowhere. She sprang up from below the edge of the wagon’s rear panel, a tiny thing with skin as black as pitch. Yellow brocade glinted on a muted purple gown, matching the shine of her innocent eyes wide as dinner plates. They grew wider still as the girl gaped at Loren.

“Who are you?” The girl’s cry was cloaked in a whisper. “Are you the one the constables sought?”

Loren fled for the wagon’s front. It had a smaller opening than the rear, but still large enough to easily slip through. But as she dropped to the ground, Loren found herself facing a yard of bared steel.

She froze. Her eyes traveled the sword’s length to the man who held it. He dwarfed any man she had ever seen. His skin, like the girl, nearly glowed in its darkness. All but his hands, which were bright pink. But Loren could scarcely look away from his eyes, for they were solemn and uncompromising as stone. He wore a shirt of chain and a silver helmet like the other guards, but also steel pauldrons wrought with gold inlay.

Loren took him in—before her knees buckled and she collapsed to the ground. She cowered at his steel point.

“Who are you?”
 

Loren recognized the man’s booming voice from earlier.

“I . . . I . . . ” The word
Nightblade
appeared in her mind and vanished like smoke.

“Gregor! Lower your blade.”

The woman arrived, her voice even more distinct in the open air. From her eyes and the shape of her face, Loren knew at once that this must be the girl’s mother. But where the girl was all bounce and innocence, Loren saw a grim determination steelier than her captain’s sword in the woman’s face.
 

The sword lowered, its point sinking into the grass.

The woman strode toward Loren, swirling her dress around her with a flourish. Like a wizard’s trick, the girl appeared just behind her mother’s legs. Loren thought at once of the bear cubs.

“You are the girl the constables sought, I imagine.” No trace of a question lined the woman’s words.

“I . . . I am,” said Loren, at last finding her voice. She gathered her wits and hastily added, “My lady.”

“Help her up.”

Gregor seized Loren’s shoulders and hauled her to standing. It felt as though he could fling her into the sky, but he set Loren down almost gently on her heels. The woman gestured with two fingers. Gregor took three steps back, quick yet unhurried. The woman stepped forward to take his place. Her hand shot out to cup Loren’s chin, tilting it high to study her face.

“How came you by that eye? Not from the constables, I hope.”

“No,” said Loren, unsure how to take this. She winced as the woman probed the black eye with a finger. “That gift I received before their pursuit.”

“Hmm.” The woman removed her hand and stepped back. “Do you choose to withhold your name?”

Loren blinked and bowed. “I am Loren, my lady, of the family Nelda.”
 

“Damaris,” said the woman, inclining her head. “Of the family Yerrin. Well met.”

“And you,” said Loren, keeping her head and most of her body bent. She could not shake a keen awareness of Gregor and his sword.

“Oh, stand, girl,” said Damaris. “I am a merchant, not a Queen.”

Loren straightened. “Thank you.”

“You are pursued, and rather hotly, it seems,” Damaris went on. “Tell me why.”

“They spoke the truth. I traveled with the wiz—” Loren clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks flaming red. “With the man they sought.”

Damaris’s nostrils flared. “I thought I heard a secret hidden in their words, but a wizard? That is remarkable. I suppose I should count myself lucky the man did not cast us all in fire before stealing a horse.” Her eyes flicked past Loren to the wagon. “But tell me. The constables were thorough. How did they miss you?”

Loren heard something in Damaris’s tone and thought she knew what it might be. “I found a loose board in the wagon’s floor, my lady. I hid myself beneath it.”

“In that wagon?” said Damaris, pointing.

“Yes, my lady.”

Her voice found an undercurrent of steel. “And did you see anything else concealed within the floor?”

Again, Loren heard her meaning. “Not a thing, my lady. The compartment lay empty, with plenty of room to stretch my legs.”

Damaris relaxed, lips twitching in a smile. “It is such a pleasure to find wit and charm in a chance stranger.”
 

Loren bowed again. “My lady is too kind. I give only the truth.”

Tension melted, and Damaris’s daughter reemerged to study her, wide eyes roving up and down. Loren had the uncomfortable feeling of cattle under inspection.

“Will we give her to the constables, Mother?” said the girl.

Damaris shook her head. “We will not. They sought the wizard more keenly, I think, and he abandoned her. Sending this girl into the hands of the law would gain us no profit.”

Loren seized upon Damaris’s hidden meaning.
 

I know of the hidden compartments and what lies inside
.
If they give me to the constables, I might speak of them.
 

It gave her a sense of security. When two strangers walked together outside the King’s law, neither could gain much from betrayal.

Then she thought again and realized that might not be so. If such knowledge indeed proved dangerous, Loren’s corpse would serve Damaris better than her presence. Loren’s eyes flitted to Gregor and the bare steel in his huge gloved fist.

As though she read Loren’s mind, Damaris shook her head. “Fear not, girl. Not needlessly do we spill blood. Such policy serves one who lives by the sword but is rarely profitable to those who live by the coin.” Again, she motioned with two fingers. Gregor slid his sword into its scabbard—though too slowly for Loren’s comfort.
 

“Thank you, my lady. It would seem I am in your debt.”

“I have given you nothing,” Damaris replied. “I have merely neglected to take anything away. Now, where are you bound?”

Loren thought of a lie she might tell, but then abandoned it for the truth. “Cabrus.”

“And your wizard friend?”

“Cabrus as well.”

“Do you seek for him, then?”
 

That gave Loren pause. Did she? Loren did not know. She knew only that she had begun her journey with Cabrus in mind, and nothing had given her cause to change course. But Xain? Mayhap she would find him, though she would not be surprised to learn he had quit her forever.