Wind Over Bone: The Estralony Cycle #2 (Young Adult Fantasy Romance) (25 page)

She had moved on to the bread when Dreida said behind her: “My lady?”

Gryka circled round both of them, making little moaning noises. Sarid hid the salt. “What?”

“
Are you yourself?”

“
So far as I know.”

“
You weren’t last time we met.”

Sarid stood up. “You met me when I was mad?”

“I cared for Gryka while you were gone.”

“
I’m pleased you’re alive.”

“
I knew you’d come back. Are you going to help?”

“
Yes.”

Dreida didn’t say more, but backed away again and went about her business with a slight smile.

After gathering a few things, Sarid left quietly, before anyone else could recognize her. She went out the wicket, but before she could close it, Gryka had slid past and was sitting in front of her, grinning like an idiot. “Stay,” Sarid said. “You can’t follow. Not today.” She doubted the dog would listen.

***

“How’d it go?” said Savvel, as she looped her horse’s leads over a pine branch. Moisture fell down over her hair.

“
Rischa’s leaving at dawn tomorrow,” she said. “We’d better collect him that evening––he’ll have eaten by then.”

“
Will he be very sick?” asked Leva.

“
Depends on how much he eats.” She wiped water off her forehead. “Let’s darken Savvel’s skin, shall we?”

Savvel produced from his bags a bottle of dye for leathers––they’d bought it back in Amarstad. Sarid took up a pan and stepped over some broken rocks to the brook, which was deep and the color of brandy. She filled the pan and watered the dye. Then they sat by the fire, for it had got dark, and she and Leva rubbed the stuff all over Savvel’s skin. Half an hour later he looked like he had come from southern Dirlan, or Garada.

He wiped a trickle off his lips. “How long d’you suppose it’ll stay––?”

“
A while, probably,” said Sarid. He seemed more excited than dismayed.

Twenty-Three

The next morning Savvel put on a green cloak. Leva, who was handy with a brush, had painted onto it earlier a mortar with a tree rising from it––the sign of the medic. Savvel gathered together the pliers and picks and knives and other things Sarid had stolen yesterday from the hall, and put them all in a big black purse.

“You look very young,” said Leva to him.

“
Even with this beard?” He pulled at the patchy crop he’d cultivated the past three weeks.

“
Scarcely older than Sarid. Rub some mud round your eyes and squint. It’ll make wrinkles.”

He did so, and it improved him some, and Sarid belted a ragged coat around her sarafan.

“What shall we do about Leva?” Savvel said to her.

“
She can stay here,” said Sarid. “She’d be a worry.”

“
She’d prefer you to speak to her directly,” said Leva.

“
Someone has to stay with the baggage, Leva,” said Sarid.

“
Someone has to man the keep,” said Savvel. “Make it warm and inviting for your erstwhile betrothed. Give it a woman’s touch.”

“
Just go,” said Leva. “May take all damn day to find the damn boy.”

***

When they came to the road it was clear the party had passed through––the dirt was written over with boot and hoof, and dust hung in the air and on the bushes along the road. Sarid and Savvel clipped along on their mounts, keeping to the ditches in case they were come upon suddenly. In the distance they heard the whinny of horses and the jingle of harnesses.

Either Rischa and his escort had iron stomachs or they’d had a frugal midday meal.

Near sunset they heard the drumbeat of a horse galloping their way. They watched behind a stand of pines as the man rode by—he’d Charevost livery, blonde hair, and a very white face.

“
You think—?” said Savvel.

“
Yes.” Sarid spotted smoke curling beyond a rise in front of them.

She and Savvel circled wide around the place, so they might approach it from the north. It was just chilly enough that they could put cowls up without seeming furtive. Sarid’s horse made restless movements under her, ears pricked. A whinny sounded from the camp. Savvel’s horse threw back his head and answered.

There were about ten men altogether. They’d unloaded under a stand of dead oaks, but hadn’t got round to hobbling the horses, some of which were grazing on the other side of the road.

Sarid was pleased to see that most of the men were down, lying on pallets, blankets and coats.

“What’s this?” A man looked up from filling a bucket with water. Obviously he hadn’t taken sick. He put his big skin bag down, stepped up next to them and peered suspiciously up at Savvel. “Who are you?”

“
Where is His Grace?” said Savvel, deepening his voice a notch.

“
Tell me who you are.”

“
A doctor,” said Savvel. “Torgdan Adan of Ningrav. Someone found me on the road. Middling height, blonde hair. Had a grey horse. He said everyone’s down with cramps.”

“
Mikal found a doctor? Who’s she?” the man grunted, gesturing to Sarid. She kept her eyes down.

“
My apprentice.”

Savvel and Sarid got down off the horses. Savvel unbuckled his bag of supplies from the saddle, and gave it to her to carry. In the twilight the sign on his cloak looked dim and travel-worn.

“His Grace?” said Savvel.

“
Over there.” The man pointed toward the nearest oak.

“
Come, Dreida,” said Savvel to Sarid, and she walked after him, pulling her cowl lower. The man followed them. Savvel said to him, “Are you the only one not sick?”

“
Wouldn’t say that,” mumbled the man. “We think it’s the wine.”

“
The wine?”

“
Aye, I only had half a skin."

“
Tell me, when did you eat?”

“
Just now. Was fetching water earlier, for the horses.” Sarid saw that the man’s hands were shaking. They hadn’t been before.

They stepped over groaning men and wet blankets, and came to Rischa, who lay curled on a pallet, hands in a knot at his stomach. The man bent over him and said, “Your Grace?”

“Where’s Peitr?” said Rischa. His hair stuck to his neck, and he shook under his blanket.

“
Vomiting.”

“
Oh.” He leaned over his pallet and heaved. Nothing came up. There was a bucket next to him, filled to the brim. Sarid looked away, her stomach squeezing.

Savvel donned a look of sympathy. “Your Grace,” he said, bending over his brother, “we’re going to set you on my horse and bring you to Ningrav.”

Rischa didn’t reply. His eyes were glazed; he seemed barely conscious. Together Savvel and the man lifted him and put him on Savvel’s horse, and Sarid climbed up behind to steady him. Savvel took the leads, turning so that his face was next to Rischa’s. Sarid felt the startled movement, the change in Rischa’s posture.

Savvel noticed, too. He drew his knife under his cloak, put it against Rischa’s armpit. “You’re right,” he whispered in Rischa’s ear, “we’re both mad. And if you make a noise other than vomiting I’ll dig to see if I can find a heart anywhere in you. Which is a pity, because I’d rather kill the lady.”

Savvel patted Rischa on the shoulder, and said loudly to Sarid, “Put wet cloths around his head. It will ease the fever.” He still had his knife against Rischa’s neck, and Sarid wrapped a wide cloth around Rischa’s head, making sure it fit snuggly against his mouth. 

Savvel took his knife away, and nodded at the man. “We’d better get him to town.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace,” said the man. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “I don’t think I can walk with you.” He sat on a fallen log and took a few heaving breaths. “Don’t think poorly of me.”

“
He’s scarcely in a state to think anything,” said Savvel. “I’ll send men with medicine. You should probably lie down.” He mounted Sarid’s horse, and the three of them rode out of the camp.

Soon there were no noises behind them except the night birds and the wind rushing through the pines.

“I feel awful,” said Sarid to Savvel. They went west at the fastest speed they could. Rischa was convulsing in Sarid’s arms, his shirt soaked through with sour-smelling sweat.

Savvel looked at his brother. “Take the gag off.”

Sarid untied the cloth from Rischa’s head. He spat out the rag and asked for water. She took a waterskin from the bags and gave it to him, and he pulled at it hungrily. His hands shook. He dropped it, and it fell onto the road.

“
There’s more.” Sarid gave him the other one, and he squeezed it dry.

It was all for nothing, though. Five minutes later he leaned over the horse and threw it all up.

“Oh, well,” said Sarid. “There’s water where we’re going.”

***

Leva had lit a snapping fire in the hollow and boiled some water from the brook. There was a bowl of greenish paste set on a stone nearby––Sarid had made it before leaving that morning.

“
Thank you, Leva,” said Sarid, sliding from the horse. Savvel jumped down and helped her ease Rischa to the ground.

Leva took the horses’ leads. “You’ve scared him senseless. We’re not going to kill you, Rischa,” she said.

“It’s not fear,” said Sarid. She and Savvel dragged Rischa over to the fire. They put him on a bedroll, and Sarid reached for a sack of oats and used it to prop up his head. “Go get some water,” she said to Savvel, and she scooped the green paste into the pan of hot water, and stirred it with a stick.

Savvel came back with a filled waterskin, and they watched as Rischa drank from it very slowly.

“Now this,” said Sarid. She handed him a tin of the hot water with the paste dissolved in it.

He peered inside at the green-tinted stuff. “What’s this?” he said hoarsely.

“A solution of charcoal, algae, and rust.”

Rischa looked over at his brother. “She’s trying to poison me.”

“No,” said Savvel, “she’s already poisoned you. You’re suffering from the whore’s blush.” He pointed at Rischa’s flushed shoulder, which was sticking out of his unlaced shirt. “Or the orpiment poop, or whatever you want to call it. And Sarid knows her antidotes, so if you would please drink the fucking tea. Because a healthy, bright-eyed Rischa in full possession of his faculties is conducive to our success tonight.”

Rischa drank it more slowly than he had drunk the water. Sarid took the tin, refilled it.

“Another?” His voice was quavering less.

“
Yes.”

He drank it without argument. Then he rolled over onto his stomach and rose to his knees. He rested his head on the ground and panted heavily. Sarid recognized the symptoms and ordered him behind a bush.

He got up on trembling legs and tottered behind some hawthorns to do his business.

When he came back he sat on the bedroll and drew his legs up to his chest. “What are you doing?”

“Feel better?” said Sarid.

“
A bit.”

“
How much did you eat?”

“
Not a lot.”

“
Good. This is how it’s going to go. We’ll wait an hour or two, until you’re able to walk properly. Then you can come with us freely or we can knock you unconscious and carry you.”

“
I’ll come,” he said.

“
Where are we going?” said Leva. She seemed folded in, half her usual size.

“
Away from the road,” said Sarid. “Up into the mountains.”

***

They waited. Rischa drank a lot of water, and lay down for a bit. Then they left the horses in the hollow, and walked north, through groves of pine and oak, over streams, around ravines, until they reached a glade on the side of a wide, low mountain: a slash of dead grass surrounded by oaks and firs, with a flat, dark stone sunk in the middle. The place had a sad feeling, especially near the stone, as though something terrible had happened there a long time ago.

Sarid dropped her bag. It made a hollow noise on the turf. She pulled from it a few coils of rope.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Rischa. “We have to tie you up.”

“
Why?” He looked over toward the dark stone. “What’re you going to do?”

“
Nothing to you,” said Savvel.

“
Where should we hide him?” asked Sarid, looking round the clearing.

“
Under a fir tree.” Leva pointed. “There. The boughs go straight to the ground.”

The three of them led Rischa beneath the tree.

They tied his hands and sat him against the trunk, and Sarid asked him if he could see out the branches.

“
What are you doing?” he said again. Sarid knelt and saw that he had a good view of the clearing. Savvel lashed him securely to the trunk, Leva tied his ankles, and Sarid, apologizing again, gagged him. His eyes looked at her, asking the question.

“
No one’s going to hurt you,” she said.

Then they came out from under the tree, and Savvel and Leva stood very close together while Sarid looked for loose stones. She found a few at the edge of the clearing and placed them at the four points of a circle.

And then, as her sister had left her with the power to summon, she opened the circle. A cold wind blew from it.

Savvel grabbed her arm, turned her around to face him. “You’re sure about this?”

The moon hung above them––full, except for a dark smudge on the side. She could see his eyes clearly. The pupils were large, the whites shining like old bone.

“
Listen,” she said, and Leva looked over. “I can’t promise you safety.” Leva nodded. Her wrists looked small and frail. Her hair hung round her neck in a messy braid, like a noose. Sarid straightened her back and tried to be ruthless, like Savvel, like her sister. “Don’t make her angry. Forget pride for a while, let her play with you.” She looked away from them. “And when things get bad I’ll summon him.”

She turned to the circle and said the words. Her sister shimmered before her like a reflection on a dark lake.

Yelse parted the charged air and stepped out of the circle, smelling of rain and thunder. Sarid kept the circle open. Leva and Savvel’s hands locked together. Sarid didn’t think they were acting.

“
Sarid,” said Leva, and then she was silent, and the silence was like a question.

“
What did she tell you?” Yelse asked them. “That she was raising the old Ravyir from the dead?” She laughed, sounding obscenely happy. “What shall we do with them?” She took Sarid’s hands and swung them out playfully. Her eyes were quite black.