Solace Arisen (8 page)

The shop girl looked up from her tatting. “A quarter crown.”

It was a dear price. Perhaps she was meant to haggle the price down, but the less she spoke, the better. So, she nodded and the girl came, took the gown from the window, folded it, wrapped it in a sheet of flower-printed paper.

As she came from the shop, Degarius met her. Through a mouthful of bread, he mumbled something in Gherian. He must have been in the bakery just after her.

“I don’t understand.”

He swallowed. “I asked why you were in there.” Clear disapproval was in his voice.

She peeled back the paper wrapping on the nightgown. A hint of blue showed. “I wanted something clean.”

“You’ll never use it, unless you want to freeze. It was foolish—”

“It was my coin. I don’t need your approval,” she said and shoved the package into her coat. “Have you found an inn?”

“We’re leaving now.” Then quietly, he said, “There are reward fliers plastering the wall by the fruit seller.”

The wrapping paper crushed against her chest as she turned and headed to her horse. She was disappointed they had to go, but if staying was imprudent, it was imprudent. Couldn’t he have been just a hair kinder, though? That he despised her was clear. But her bucket was already overflowing with his derision. Why must he ladle on more?

When Kieran returned, they rode nonstop through town to the watch house before the tunnel the ancients had cut through the mountain. In the bright afternoon, Verdea Crossing was a hole in the rock-faced mountainside that looked like a gaping, toothless mouth.

“I bought spiritbanes. They’re in my pack,” Kieran said with a warier eye to the tunnel than the watch house. “The ancients made it, and I’ve heard Cumberland is full of unmarked hants. Hold up. Let me get them.”

Spiritbanes were useless, Arvana wanted to say, a superstition. The dead couldn’t hurt you. But it seemed wrong to speak about the things man shouldn’t know. She took the spiritbane Kieran offered, a large one on a leather string. She lifted it to put around her neck, but the pungent smell gagged her and her horse curled its lip in disgust, so she tucked the string into the back of her belt.

At the watch house, the two guards patrolling the tunnel were playing cards. The tunnel shortened the treacherous trip over the mountains from days to a short level ride, though few chose to venture in judging by the guards’ boredom. One of the redcoats shook his finger at the other guard then laid down his cards. “Don’t look at my cards.” To them, he said, “Ah, monks. Stop and get a torch. You’ll need it in the tunnel. It’s a long, dark ride.”

Arvana glanced to the guardhouse. A posting giving the price on Degarius’s head was tacked to the door. She had better get the torch.

As she dismounted, a guard asked Kieran, “Why are you going into Cumberland?”

“To mark hants along the road.”

“I thought the hant monks wore a full covering.”

“Those are in our packs. They are impractical for riding.”

The guard nodded. “High time someone marked the hants. I stumbled into a bronze statue there and had bad luck for two years. Good luck with the Cumberlandians, though. They’ll commit you to the Maker’s peace more likely than thank you. If you can stand the cold, don’t light a fire at night. You’ll have better luck keeping the robbers off, though you don’t look as if you have much to steal.”

“Just the hant markers.” Kieran reached behind and patted one of his packs, which did contain a bag of the blue glass eyes.

Arvana took a torch from the pile. The second guard, who had a long, dull face and lumpy nose that looked as if it had been broken several times, fanned his cards into a pile. “We won’t charge you for it, seeing as how you’re going to mark the hants.” As she passed him to light the torch, he got up. “You look familiar.”

She didn’t want to speak and give herself away as a woman, so she merely shrugged as if to say she had no idea why he might think that, and went to remount. He followed her.

Her foot in the stirrup, he said, “I know what it is. Have you been to Shacra Paulus?”

Her pulse raced as she tried to shake her head nonchalantly in the negative. How could he know her?

“I was stationed there on quay duty when they brought Governor Keithan’s body from Orlandia. A Maker’s woman played the kithara during the rite. I took note because I play a little myself. Say,” he narrowed his eyes at Degarius, “who are you?”

Instinctively, she squeezed her calves to the horse’s sides and clucked to the packhorse to go fast. Kieran and Degarius, tight on her tail, galloped after her into the tunnel.

The torchlight grew brighter as they went deeper into the long, dark, tall shaft. The dank smell seemed like the smell of the cold darkness itself, as if it were the thick thing choking out the light instead of a mountain of rock. The hoofbeats echoed eerily until they dashed through a shallow puddle. Then, it sounded as if a whole herd of horses was careening though. Arvana glanced back. A spot of light, like a single star in a vast black night, bobbed up and down. The redcoats were following.

On and on the tunnel went. It seemed like they’d been riding for a dozen minutes. Would the torch last?

Degarius rode up beside her. “Don’t look back. It slows you down.”

She took a deep breath of stale tasting air through her mouth. Even the bitter scent of the spiritbane would have been more welcome.

The tunnel made a wide turn and grayish daylight lit the rough-hewn walls and then finally eclipsed their torch’s golden glow. They rode into the fresh air and blinding daylight. She flung her torch into a rocky ditch and minding Degarius’s admonition, crouched well forward on her mount’s neck and rode without looking back. The flapping spiritbane tugged at her belt.

Degarius looked back. Kieran was right behind him. The Gherians had come out of the tunnel. Miss Nazar and the packhorse were ahead, racing toward a rickety plank that crossed an eroded streambed. For all love, didn’t she see it?

As her horse began the leap, an unbidden image filled the space behind Degarius eyes.

His little group of Frontiersmen were racing from the Gherians who had discovered their confrontation with the creature in Lake Sandela. They were trapped between two pursuing groups and a gully. He shouted for them to cross. Nat, being sentimental, had brought along Micah’s horse. “Leave her!” Degarius yelled, but it was too late. They started the jump. They went up, over. They’d cleared the gully. Nat’s horse hit hard, throwing him forward. Micah’s horse pulled, rolling Nat to the side of his mount. He clung to his horse’s neck. But then the horse and rider became one dark tumbling shadow that haunted the air with the eerie joined cries of boy and beast. Ginger, Micah’s horse, veered off from them and disappeared into the close horizon of night.

And Degarius couldn’t go back for Nat’s body.

Miss Nazar’s horse jumped the creek. It would have been a beautiful thing to watch...but for the packhorse.

She dropped the tether! What a damned fine rider she was. The packhorse landed, and then kept running with Miss Nazar’s horse.

Degarius cleared the creek and heard Kieran come over after him, but suddenly the hoofbeats ceased. Kieran had stopped, wheeled his horse around, and was aiming an arrow at the redcoats. Was the fool trying to get himself killed?

The brother let loose an arrow and nocked another as the first arrow hit the front-riding soldier in the shoulder. The second arrow hit the farther back horse in the chest. It stumbled and went down on its knees, throwing the rider. More arrows, with time to be expertly aimed, left Kieran’s bow and found their marks. Then, the brother stowed his bow, but didn’t turn and ride. What in all hell was he doing? Was he dismounting?

“Kieran!”

At Degarius’s shouting, Arvana stopped. She caught the packhorse’s tether and led him to Kieran who was slowly sliding from his horse. When his feet touched the ground, he crumbled to his knees. Clinging to a stirrup with one hand, his other fumbled with the spiritbane. “It wasn’t like taking a deer. Not like it. I killed two men. Maker, how can you forgive me?”

Degarius grasped him under the arm. “You were doing your job. If you love the Maker, get up and ride. Wipe your damn bloody hands on me, if you want. I’ve killed a hundred men. What are two more?”

Kieran leered at Degarius, but his whole body hardened, and he rose and began to remount.

For a moment, Arvana felt everything she once had for Degarius. He meant what he’d said to Kieran. He bore the ugly trials of this world so others wouldn’t have to. A monk, who’d chosen a peaceful life, shouldn’t have been called upon to kill. It was why the superior told Degarius about the girl birthing the draeden. She knew his conscience wouldn’t abide it.

Her heart went out to Kieran, too. His anger at Degarius had temporarily replaced his grief. It wouldn’t last long, though. As well-intentioned as Degarius was, it was impossible to simply wipe the blood from one’s hands. She clucked to her horse to move and opened her hands from the reins. They had the blood of Chane Lerouge and a hundred Solacians upon them. The Maker had a special grace for Degarius and Kieran. There wouldn’t be one for her. The blood was there by her own mistakes, not out of duty or a sense of justice...until she faced the Gherians. Not that one blood could cleanse the other.

Cumberland, six days later

W
hile riding, Degarius slipped a knuckle under his glasses and rubbed the sleep from his eye. What he’d give for a cup of coffee. To avoid drawing attention to themselves, they’d not made a fire since entering Cumberland so the nights were cold and the mornings a coffee-less, frosty headache. But the strategy had worked. No soldiers or robbers had set on them during the night. During the day, the road, more of a narrow, often steep path through the mountains, was quiet except for the sound of their horses kicking through the leaves. By good luck, they’d avoided thieves. Or, if bandits had seen them, they’d had a sliver of compunction at robbing Maker’s men.

As Degarius rubbed the other eye, Kieran’s blurry figure flagged them to stop. Damn it, it would be his luck to meet bandits after congratulating himself for avoiding them. One hand went to his sword; the other straightened his glasses. Far ahead, a doe was grazing roadside. Had Kieran stopped to watch her? The animal held its head attentive, took a few steps into the brush, and then returned to eating. Degarius relaxed his sword hand.