The Usurper's Crown (38 page)

Evidently satisfied with his work, the rider stilled his horse, and patted its neck as he dismounted. His free hand worked the straps on his helmet and he pulled it free.

As soon as the sunlight touched he face, Avanasy gave a delighted shout.

“Peshek!” Avanasy ran forward and clasped the man’s shoulder.

“Avanasy!” The rider grinned in return. “Still don’t know when to run, do you?”

“It would seem not.” Avanasy laughed with him, sounding happier than he had since they arrived in the village.

“And who is this good lady?” The man, Peshek, turned toward her.

Ingrid had never seen a man as straightforwardly handsome as Peshek. His hair was a rich chestnut, his eyes were summer blue. His face was strong and open and his shoulders broad. All about him hung an air of easy confidence. Despite herself, Ingrid felt her cheeks begin to redden as he regarded her.

“She is Ingrid Loftfield of Sand Island in the United States of America, and she is to be my wife, Peshek. So, you may keep those rogue’s eyes to yourself,” he added with a mock growl.

“Wife!” Peshek exclaimed, genuinely startled. “What …” He stopped himself. “Well,” he amended. “I knew there was no woman of Isavalta good enough for Avanasy. My greetings and my duty, mistress.” Peshek bowed to her with his hand over his heart.

“Thank you, sir,” said Ingrid, curtsying. “Your timing is excellent.”

“And you are not the first woman to tell him so.” Avanasy laughed again. “Quick, Peshek, come stand here by me. I think a second rescue is coming.”

Sure enough, the tide of village men boiled around the houses, coming from all directions to cut off any retreat, and what they found was Ingrid, Avanasy, Peshek, the horse, which danced back nervously, the old women, and the fallen soldiers. Peshek grabbed his horse’s reins and patted the animal’s nose to soothe it.

Two of the fishers with wicked-looking iron hooks in their hands started forward from the crowd.

“I beg you, put up your arms,” said Avanasy, stepping into their path. “This man is a friend and helped us in our need.” Grumbling, the fishers fell back, but their suspicious eyes did not leave Peshek.

All of which was too much for Malan’ia.

“You’ve slain us all!” she cried, shedding tears even as she glared around at her neighbors. “Just see if you haven’t! How long do you think it will be before the garrison sends out a search for this lot!” She swept out her hands to indicate the fallen soldiers. The over-lieutenant lay still as death. The other two gazed around them with wide and nervous eyes, but did not seem to think it wise to move.

Malan’ia spat on the ground and stumped back into her house.

“I think you will not need to look far to see how the garrison knew you were here,” murmured Peshek very softly, stroking his horse’s nose again. Then, he raised his voice. “I fear she is right. I saw their horses making straight back to the fort. If they are found without their riders, a search party will go out immediately.”

Keeper Hajek made his way to the head of the crowd of fishers. “If we send some men out now, we might still be able to catch them.”

“That will help for a while,” agreed Peshek. “But not for long. The best course for the three of us is to be gone from here.”

Hajek nodded. He pointed to one cluster of fishers who all carried stout ropes over their shoulders. “Get you out and find those horses if you can.” To another group he said, “Take these three out of sight, and then you’d better see to the others by the gate.” The men growled their affirmation, and with three of them to a soldier, they hauled them out of sight. The rest of the village parted to let the men through, and muttered uneasily among themselves. Ingrid caught Malan’ia’s name spoken several times, and the tone used was not friendly.

Apparently, Hajek heard it too. “Friends, friends,” he called. “There’s work to be done, and if we’re missed from the cliffs, suspicions will rise fast and high.”

Hajek stepped smartly up to Avanasy and Ingrid and bowed in front of them, adding a nod for Peshek, who returned it gravely. The rest of the village followed suit, all of them bowing with great solemnity, leaving Ingrid feeling like the guest of honor at a huge country wedding. As Hajek led his people away, their voices lifted high in song.

“Let the waves roll, let the wind roar,

You’ve brought me home, from many’s the shore.

Your eyes light the moon, your tears fill the sea,

Your hands hold my heart, your voice calls to me.”

A question filled Ingrid as the villagers departed to their tasks. She was sure she did not want to know the answer, but she could not stop herself from asking. “What will they do with the soldiers?”

“They will make sure the men do not follow us,” said Avanasy flatly, and his cold voice told Ingrid all she needed to know. “Come, Ingrid. Let us get our things. We’ll take shelter beneath the cliffs. There’ll be a moon tonight and we can sail out after dark.”

Ingrid tried to catch Avanasy’s eye, to get some reassurance from his voice or his manner, but there was none. He was distant from her, although they walked side by side, with Peshek leading his horse behind them. His mind was on his empress and thoughts of the danger to the empire, and she would have to try to wait until his thoughts turned, with as much patience as she could muster. But she did not feel content to wait. Something pulled at her, some restlessness like the sensation left over from a bad dream made her uneasy inside, and she could not give it a name.

Avanasy watched Ingrid sink into her own silence, and he regretted it. He wanted to speak comfort to her, but he had no words. A day and a night in Isavalta; already six men were condemned to death for no more than looking on his face. The first casualties of the war to come.

No, Iakush came before them, and I’ll lay all I own down that even he was not the first.

Peshek waited outside the god house with his horse while Avanasy and Ingrid went inside to pick up their bundles and sling them over their shoulders again. Avanasy took this moment of privacy to touch Ingrid’s arm and look into her eyes. She returned a small smile that held no more than a spark of warmth, but there was no time now to inquire as to just what troubled her. He would have to trust to her patience just a little longer.

There was no question of Peshek’s horse being able to negotiate the path that had brought Avanasy and Ingrid up to the village, so they were forced to head eastward along the coastline, until the cliffs gentled into hills, and then trek back over sand and stone, following the waterline as the waves ebbed and surged at their right hand.

At last, with much coaxing of the skittish, tired horse, they made their way around the rocky point to the cove that sheltered Avanasy’s boat. Salt stung his lips and sand grated against his skin. Ingrid looked wan, and even Peshek’s banter had ceased to make her smile.

Peshek already seemed to have forgotten the men left behind, but that was ever his way. He lived for now and what was to come. The past was over and done with as soon as it happened. He did as he must, loved as he would, and never labored under any shadow. Avanasy sometimes envied him, and sometimes grew exasperated with his carelessness. Added to all that, he suspected that the nagging that teased at his insides as he watched Peshek coax Ingrid with his light words — telling her of the pleasant sights that Isavalta held — was the first mild stirring of jealousy.

Which was so ridiculous he had to laugh, grimly and silently, at himself.

“Well,” announced Peshek, gazing at the narrow cove about him. “Not so fine as your other country home, Avanasy, but I’m sure all the fresh air is most healthful.”

“It wants a woman’s touch,” replied Ingrid. “And a fire. I’ll see if there’s driftwood to be found. I’m sure you two need to talk.” Before Avanasy could offer advice or caution, she plunked her bundle onto a boulder and started down the shoreline again, pausing here and there to pick up what driftwood she found.

While Ingrid wandered farther afield, Peshek busied himself with his horse, uncinching the animal’s tack and laying it aside. Relieved of its bridle, the horse began to nose among the rocks, in case there was some shred of edible greenery to be found.

“She’s a fair one, Avanasy,” he said cheerfully as he bent down to take up the horse’s near hoof and check for stones. “But I’d stay on the right side of her tongue if I were in your shoes.”

“If you were in my shoes, you’d have wedded her and bedded her months since, rascal that you are,” joked Avanasy in answer, but his humor did not last long. “Peshek, what has happened? Is the empress truly with child? The lord sorcerer said nothing of it.”

Peshek shook his head, and straightened up. “Nothing so simple. Where is Lord Iakush? I cannot believe he stayed away when all is falling apart.”

“He’s dead, Peshek. Kacha killed him.”

Peshek’s face turned thunderous, and he spat. “Not the first and not the last by a long chalk,” he muttered in grim prophecy. “The empress is not with child. She is fled her palace, and all that comes out of there are Kacha’s lies.”

Avanasy’s cheeks paled as Peshek told him how he had taken the disguised empress from the Vaknevos, and how he had been charmed to sleep and how she had escaped his custody.

“She bids you meet her at the Heart of the World. I know no more than that.” Peshek turned away again, laying both hands on his horse’s mane. The creature snorted and stamped one hoof. Despite his attempt to hide it, Avanasy clearly saw the shame that filled Peshek’s face. “I am glad you are back with us, Avanasy,” he said.

“But how!” Avanasy thumped his fist with his thigh. “How is he able to do this! Kacha is no sorcerer, yet magic comes under his hands. Only through magic could he deceive the entire council and put Medeoan to flight.”

“And it is not possible all the council lords are traitors,” added Peshek. “Fools, perhaps, treacherous, perhaps, but most of them believe in the empire.”

“Which is why they are council lords.” Avanasy stared past his friend toward the rushing gray ocean. The foam-crested waves spoke in their wordless, unceasing voices and gave him no answers at all. “This is a deep plot, Peshek, and it was set in motion well before Kacha was sent to wed Medeoan. Why did I let her send me away?”

“Because you are of more use to her alive than dead, wherever you might be, and you knew that.” He shook his head. “Still, the news is not all bad.” Peshek went on to tell Avanasy of his meeting with his father, and how word was spreading to find the truly loyal.

Avanasy blew out a sigh to the dimming air. “I should have known you would not be idle. This will be good news to give to the empress when I reach her.”

“So I hoped.” Peshek pulled on the fingers of his gloves for a moment. Then, he said in a low voice. “A wife, Avanasy? In truth?”

“We have not been prayed over yet, but, yes, I have given her my pledge.”

“Was that wise? The empress … now that Kacha has betrayed her, she’s going to turn back to you, and …”

Avanasy held up his hand. “No more, Peshek.”

“Avanasy, you are not a fool.”

“No. But there are things that may not be spoken of. Not even here in the middle of nowhere. I fell in love. I made a promise. I did not believe I would ever be welcomed back, and when I was sent for, I could not abandon her.” His eyes instantly searched the mouth of the cove for Ingrid, but did not see her. It was just as well. This was not a conversation he wanted her to hear.

“And what will you do when you face our mistress imperial again?” inquired Peshek mildly.

“What I must, but I will not desert Ingrid, Peshek. She holds my heart.”

Peshek simply shrugged at this, and changed the subject. “Can you get us to the Heart of the World?”

Avanasy nodded once. “I can, but I won’t be taking you, Friend Peshek.”

“And why not?” Peshek’s voice filled with mock indignation.

“Because we need to know the true state of things among the lords master and at the court, and there must be someone utterly trustworthy who can carry that news between those who join with your father. I cannot find out so much and still reach the empress, but you can.”

For the first time, hesitation crept into Peshek’s manner. “You cannot believe they do not know what I have done.”

“I’m counting on it,” Avanasy told him, making sure Peshek could see his whole face, so that the soldier would know Avanasy was not asking this of him lightly. “It is how you will know friend from foe.”

“So, I am to walk into the wasps’ nest and count their numbers for you?”

“Yes.”

Peshek sighed. “Are there any other miracles you wish me to perform?”

“No, that should be sufficient, and I thank you.”

Neither man laughed, but neither did they look away from each other.

“For what it is worth, and in spite of what you’ve just asked of me,” Peshek smiled wryly, “I am glad you have come back.”

“It is worth more than you know.” Avanasy leaned one foot against a stone. “I had scarce hoped to find so good a friend so soon upon my return.”

They clasped hands then, but only for a moment before Peshek turned his eyes to the sky. “There’s little enough daylight left. I’d best be getting on.”

Without another word, Peshek picked up his saddle and settled it back onto his horse. The rangy beast snorted and danced in annoyance at being encumbered again so soon, but Peshek went about the business of cinching girth and harness with a practiced hand.

“How will I get word to you, all the way out there in the Heart of the World?” he asked.

“I’ll send a bird to you. Speak your message to it, and that message will be carried to me.”

Peshek turned, one foot in the stirrup and both hands on the saddle, ready to hoist himself onto the chestnut horse’s back. “You are in earnest, aren’t you?”

Avanasy nodded, and Peshek just whistled as he mounted and gathered up his reins. “What a marvelous thing to be a sorcerer. Good luck to you, Avanasy. Send your bird soon.”

With the slightest touch of the reins and a soft click of Peshek’s tongue, the horse started forward, careful of the loose stones. As Avanasy watched horse and rider pick their cautious way along the waterline, leaving footprints on the darkened sand, his heart lifted a little, despite all. If there was anyone he could have hoped to find upon his return, other than Medeoan herself, Peshek was that one.