The Four Forges (76 page)

She looked up to see the two men eyeing her. “Oh,” she retorted to their silent appraisal. “It’s fine for you to not go hungry. You’ll eat raw fish.” She shuddered.

“Raw fish became a necessity when you dropped the flints into the river.”

“That wasn’t my fault. You said there was a snake creeping up on me!”

“You did jump.”

“And the flints jumped with me!” She blotted the corners of her mouth delicately with a napkin and sat back. Jeredon watched with a kind of fascination.

“Farbranches,” Lariel intervened calmly. “I think we need to know what this is about Rivergrace and why you’re so far afield seeking her.”

“She’s disappeared.”

“When?”

“The day before the riots, as close as we can reckon. Sevryn asked our brother Hosmer to bring her to him, and she never came back.”

Jeredon swapped a look with Lariel. “Where,” he asked quietly, “was she supposed to meet him?”

“A hospice, a hospital. Something like that.”

“They went back to see Azel again.” Lariel grasped on the first thing that made any sense at all.

“He never mentioned it.”

“Azel wouldn’t. He treats visits to him for information with utmost confidentiality. He’s a librarian, a historian. He would do that.” Lariel added to Jeredon, “Send a bird to him, see if he’ll confirm it. I am a bit surprised, though. I didn’t think Rivergrace would ever go back after what he told her.”

Nutmeg leaned over to pinch a piece of fruit off Garner’s plate since hers was now empty. “That’s the fellow who read her blanket?”

“Yes. The . . . mmm . . . fellow.”

“She wouldn’t talk about him, other than to say he’d nearly died, and he seemed a gentle man. He said her scrap was part of a betrothal blanket or wedding blanket, and most of it was torn away. She cried about it and wouldn’t talk to us. We let her think about it. Sometimes you have to let Rivergrace be alone.” Nutmeg licked her fingers of the juicy fruit matter-of-factly.

Lariel looked at the two Dwellers, pondering her choice of words. Jeredon, out of their view as their attention fixed on her face, shook his head slightly. She agreed silently with her brother. Rivergrace’s revelation to her family was her decision to make, and it seemed she had decided not to tell them of her true self. Lariel would leave it that way unless there came a time when she had no choice but to tell them of their adopted daughter’s destiny. “You came after them with no idea where they might have gone?”

“We thought of two places, our home on the Silverwing, and your kingdom, Highness,” Garner said as he slapped away Nutmeg’s hand hovering to steal a piece of nut bread from his plate. “We saw some tracks toward the Nylara, but nothing beyond that, and turned for here. It’s a long ride, and your borders are sealed. We couldn’t pierce Larandaril.”

“It is that. No one treads upon the kingdom without a badge for passage or unless it’s opened to them. However, I can’t send you home just yet either. We’ve not seen or heard from Sevryn ourselves, but I can’t spare anyone for a search party now. I’ve a diplomatic meeting high sun after tomorrow. You’ll accompany us, stay quiet, and watch closely. These men are neither friends nor enemies, but I need your silence about them, lest you reveal something you shouldn’t. After the meet, Jeredon will take a handful of men and supplies, and we’ll go looking. Agreed?”

“Very generous of you, Highness,” Garner told her and bowed over his plate.

“Speaking of generous.” Nutmeg looked at them hopefully. “Is there any more nut bread about?”

SEVRYN DASHED COLD WATER on his face, washing away grit and the odor of woodsmoke, and bringing him alert. He stayed crouched by the river, looking at the range of Blackwinds rising just to the north of him. The Blackwinds joined to the Burning Mountains and then arched to the high Heaven’s Teeth to the northeast, but it was the Blackwinds which drew his intense scrutiny. They crowned Larandaril and he was in those lands, and thought of what they’d often said of the queen . . . that she knew whenever anyone stepped into her kingdom. He knew she did not, but he wished it were true now.

Rufus had told him of wagons and coaches moving through the trader passes along the edge of the Blackwind, headed to the northern tip of Larandaril, and so they had come here, but for what reason, he wasn’t sure. He did not quite trust Rufus who never explained why he’d been watching smugglers or why he wanted Sevryn to know about them, for that matter, but in his halting manner, he’d informed Sevryn. Caravans taking that route ran a risk of crossing the Blackwind runners as well as bandits, villagers displaced by Lariel when she moved towns off the borders years ago hoping to forestall the contamination of her lands. Neither would be pleasant encounters. Those risks might be run if snow had cut off other passes or wildfire by lightning strikes closed the lower routes, but he couldn’t see a reason to take the Blackwind road in these days. More likely these were smugglers who’d chosen to come down out of the same range he wished to head into. He debated his options.

Rufus gave a hissing whistle behind him. The Bolger could move quietly if he wished, very quietly, and knew to stay downwind. Moving to the riverbank, he jabbed a hand toward the sky to the west. Narrowing his eyes, Sevryn saw what the other did: a faint hawk on the wind, circling to get its bearings as if just taking to the air or being released. Jeredon fancied red-tails for messengers. Could he be hunting nearby? Sevryn argued with himself whether he wished to meet with Jeredon yet or not. If smugglers were moving along the far border of Larandaril, he ought to know what they might be carrying when he did ride on to meet with the queen. She’d be furious with him as it was. He nodded to Rufus that he’d seen the bird. Another took wing right after it, and he knew then it was Jeredon. He always sent two messages out. The only question now was where the hawks headed. North or northeast? Could be any of four or five holdings. If he was with them, at the queen’s side where he belonged, he’d know where they were sent, and why.

No, this matter of belonging had changed for him. Rivergrace did not divide his loyalties, she fulfilled them.

He’d taken his own path, and would walk it.

He wiped his hands on his trousers. “I think we’ll head up into the Blackwinds a bit. I want to see what that caravan is all about.”

Rufus grunted noncommittally. He washed himself, a brief splash in the water before they trudged back to mount up. Rivergrace had already bathed, from head to toe it seemed, her chestnut hair glistening wetly on her shoulders. She smiled brightly and he felt taller. He knew the feeling couldn’t stay, but he treasured the moments he had.

 
Treasuring moments with biting insects, however, was not what he had in mind. Grass ants found their way inside his shirt and began biting as he lay on his stomach and he responded by clamping down on the inside of his cheek to stifle his anger, but it wasn’t the ants which infuriated him. He looked down from his perch at the encampment, his throat closing and his mouth going sour. He couldn’t mistake the tall, heavily muscled figure of charcoal gray moving among the wagons, bellowing though he could not hear the words, cuffing those who did not move fast enough. He should take the bastard out now, but he needed to know why Quendius camped at Larandaril’s edge. Bold as brass, he strode across the foothills of the Blackwinds, his camp aimed toward the borders of the kingdom, without trespassing, but menacing. The sun lowered on the horizon and soon would be dipping into dusk, and he’d get close then. In the meantime, he slid his hand inside his shirt, viciously pinching and crushing whatever ants he could reach and scratching away the others.

He concentrated on balance and clean thought, fighting back the rage that fountained inside him. Gilgarran would have his ears for losing control.
The ild Fallyns,
he’d coached,
are sadistic with a purpose. The pain and anger they wreak brings loss of control and discipline, all to their advantage. That they enjoy it is merely a bonus to them. Remember that.
Only one of his many lessons about control. Nothing was to be gained by that, by the rage, except giving Quendius an advantage the murdering son of a bitch didn’t need. Quendius moved in constant anger and domination but everything he did was calculated. Besides, he enjoyed it as well, and that fact roiled in Sevryn’s newly regained memories.

He watched as two men struggled with a long, willowy post and then got it set into the ground, a banner unfurling into the wind. The bronze eagle of Abayan Diort over the sun of Galdarkan Guardians rode the air under a flag of treaty, and Sevryn drew back. Now he understood why they were there, and why Jeredon had been close by.

They were readying to meet with Lariel.

Did she know who Diort carried for a partner?

Worse, would she care?

He crawled backward till he could safely stand, then he swatted himself free of ants, cursing freely, until his rage thinned enough that he dared to return and face Rivergrace. As he passed Rufus, he grabbed the Bolger by the flap of his vest.

“You knew.”

Rufus widened his stance for balance. He bobbed his head once.

“Next time, I’ll kill you first, then kill him.”

The Bolger’s leathery face split in that wide ear-to-ear, hideous grin. “You can try.” He grunted and shrugged out of Sevryn’s hold.

Rivergrace stood by Black Ribbon, scratching her chin and singing a made-up song about sun and river and fishing birds as she waited. She stopped when she saw the anger on Sevryn’s face. “What is it?”

“We ride,” he said, “in hopes of catching the queen before she does something incredibly stupid.”

She did not ask what he thought stupid, but only, “Have we a chance of catching her?”

“If we ride the night. Stay close, let Ribbon pick her way. We’ll ride hard till the sun sets, then we’ve no choice but to slow. But I won’t be stopping till I find them.” He pulled Aymaran about, hard, with a jerk on the reins that made the horse whinny in pain, a sound Sevryn ignored.

Rufus mounted his hardened wiry mountain pony and waited for Rivergrace. He took up the rear, not using reins but his knees to guide the pony, his hands cradling a short bow, and his flint-dark eyes alert.

Rivergrace hugged one slender arm about herself, skin still damp from her washing, with the faint taint of the Andredia clinging to her, as they rode. Worse than the Silverwing in its foulness though not as strong . . . she could not begin to explain to Sevryn what she felt in it, what she feared in it. Dipping her hands into it, her being had dissolved away, into the river, and she reeled herself back only with great effort, losing herself, with no way to help it or herself. She would not touch the Andredia again, that sacred river, unless forced. She could not. She would follow Sevryn all the days that she had left and pray they were many, even for one of Vaelinar blood, but never would she draw water from the Andredia again.

The moon hung high above them as night came, not yet full but so bright and silvery she could see her shadow on the ground as they rode. Ribbon chuffed and tried to snatch clumps of grass whenever they slowed, grumbling that she hungered and her smooth gait roughened as she tired. Grace rubbed the mare’s neck in sympathy, fighting to keep her eyes open despite the occasional jolt as the horse’s body shifted suddenly. She must have fallen asleep anyway, jerked back to her senses as Sevryn’s horse shouldered into them, and he swept an arm about her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto Aymaran in front of him. She sat sideways against him, his arm still about her, and he murmured to her, warm breath tickling her face, “Lean against me and sleep, aderro.”

She did, with his voice echoing in her dreams. They dissolved into a comforting nothingness.

 
“Derro, derro!”

Hands pulled, yanking her about roughly as they dragged her down. She fought to stay with Sevryn but he let her go. She thrashed as they captured her, arms about her neck squeezing, choking . . . hugging the life out of her.

“Sister, derro!”

A face salty wet with tears meshed against hers, crying happily, and Rivergrace surrendered to it, throwing her arm about her captor, saying only, “Let me breathe!” Nutmeg responded by adjusting her arms about Grace’s ribs and squeezing even harder.

She could hear Garner’s dry voice saying, “I tell you what. Got a deck? I’ll cut you the cards for her,” with Sevryn quietly declining.

“Surely she’s more valuable than that. I’ll trade you a fine tashya horse for her.”

“Jeredon!” Nutmeg let go of her long enough to pinch someone from the aggrieved yelp and then a hearty laugh.

Rivergrace found her own feet to stand on, gathering her balance and wits, surrounded by bodies.

“A welcome I hadn’t counted on.”

Jeredon thumped Sevryn’s shoulder. “Not for you. You’d best practice ducking, for when my sister comes for you, you’ll need it.”

Sevryn beckoned at Garner. “Get that deck, and I’ll cut you to see who talks with Queen Lariel.”

“I won’t gamble with those odds.”

Lariel strode across the field, dressed in rich blue-and-green hunting attire, and the storm in her eyes could be plainly seen. “Clear the camp,” she ordered, drawing her sword. “You gambled with my trust and my offer of service. Now let us see if you can fight your way back!” Ice encased every word.

Jeredon took Rivergrace by one elbow and Nutmeg by the other, hauling them out of the way as Sevryn took a stumbling step in disbelief, putting his hand to his sword hilt but not pulling it. She bore down on him and swung, sword whistling sharply through the air as it barely missed him, and the follow-through took her about in a clean circle. He drew then.

“What are they doing?”

“I believe they’re sword fighting,” Jeredon answered Rivergrace. “We’d best give them a wide area to settle it.” He reinforced that by pulling them a bit farther away with him, Garner at his heels. Troops surrounding them fell into a respectful quiet, no offhand bets on who might win and who might fall, as if sensing the queen’s deadly mood. A tall, hulking Vaelinar with an immense scar dividing his face nearly in two crossed his arms and leveled his gaze on them to watch. He looked as if he had the strength to break it up if he wished, but he made not a move other than observing.