Wolfsbane Winter (34 page)

“What are you worried about?”

Deryn had not been aware that she was. “You’re reading my emotions again?”

“No. I can see it in your expression.”

“I’m not wor—”

Deryn stopped. Was she? And if so, what about? But there was a niggle—and maybe a tad more than just a niggle. Why? It was not as if she was inexperienced. Far from it. Deryn had no doubts about her ability to satisfy a lover. She knew the spots on a woman’s body, inside and out. She could try each one in turn and discover which worked best for Alana. Deryn’s mobility was impaired. Her bruises might not let her perform as acrobatically as she would have liked, but her hands and tongue were fine, and they were all she needed. She knew she could make Alana come, and more than once, but that was not the issue.

Deryn’s goal was something far more ambitious, far more complex, and far more important. Could she do it?

“I want to make you happy.”

Alana smiled. “You already are.”

The stubs on Martez’s hand had scabbed over and were showing no sign of infection. Shock and the effect of blood loss had passed days before and he was now well enough to put on a display of sneering bravado.

“You know you ain’t seen the last of me. You’ve taken these three fingers. Do you want to guess what I’m going to take from you in exchange?”

Alana ignored him as she replaced the bandage on his left hand. She could sense Deryn standing behind her, and knew her lover was watching the outlaw closely, ready for the first sign that action was needed. Not that it was likely. Martez’s words were nothing but empty bluster. The rope around his wrists and the Witch-Lord’s bow in Deryn’s hands ensured that.

Alana turned her attention to the female outlaw. The woman was in a frailer state than her leader. Her skin was pale, yellowish rather than white. A fever had set in, slow to shift. She was now over the worst of it, but still very weak, and she would never regain the use of her right arm. Although for her, never was not going to be a long time. Once the outlaws were delivered to the marshal in Oakan, they would certainly be tried and hanged within days. The woman glared at Alana from under hooded eyes, but said nothing.

The last outlaw was in the best physical condition, having no injury apart from the raw rope burn around his throat. Yet, of the three, he was the one acting the most sorry for himself. He flinched when Alana put her hand on his wrist to judge his pulse rate and temperature, and cowered even farther into the corner.

“Why you bothering with checking him?” Nevin spat the question.

“I like to do a thorough job.” The sergeant really was one of the most unpleasant people Alana had met. She did not envy Deryn, working with him every day. “If you want, I’ll try to find someone to explain the concept to you.”

A faint release of breath came from Deryn, choking her laughter. The mayor did not bother with restraint, and gave a loud chuckle. “Nice one.”

Alana stood and backed out of the tiny cell in the marshal’s station. “They’re all okay to move. They’ll be fine on the journey.”

“About time. Get them on the wagon now. Move it.” Nevin snapped the order almost before the words were out of Alana’s mouth. Most likely to ensure that he was the one to give the command, rather than let Regan get a word in first.

Deryn and Ross transferred the outlaws, one at a time, from the tiny holding cell to the back of the wagon waiting outside. Alana followed Regan into the street and watched the checking of bonds on the outlaws’ wrists and retying of their ankles.

An hour had passed since dawn, and although a faint covering of cloud blocked the sun, the light was bright. Alana looked along the road toward Oakan. The fields around Neupor were white. Snow had come later than normal that year. The first to settle that winter had arrived only two days before, and no more than six inches deep. The route to Oakan was still passable, and with luck, no more snow would fall that day, or tomorrow. The prisoners and escort would reach their destination without trouble from the weather and return safely.

Alana shivered, but not from the cold. A nagging sense of fear was scratching at the edges of her mind. Undoubtedly, it was only her picking up on Martez’s vicious fury. However, Alana would not be happy until Deryn was back, safe, sound, and in her bed, and the sooner the better.

Once the work of loading the prisoners on the wagon was finished, Nevin also came out. He dropped the Witch-Lord’s helmet and shield on the driver’s footboard, but kept the sword in his hand as he clambered onto the seat.

“You can put that bow up here too.” From Nevin’s tone anyone might have thought Deryn had helped herself to the weapon as part of a juvenile prank.

What was wrong with the man, Alana wondered. Was he totally incapable of saying anything in a civil manner?

“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?” The scornful way Deryn delivered the line made it clear she was not intimidated.

“Of course I’m fucking sure. You don’t need it. I’ll keep watch. I’ve got the sword if the prisoners try acting up. Ross can drive this thing. You can ride behind.”

“Supposing they have some friends, lying in wait for us up ahead.”

Nevin’s face fell. “I thought you got them all.”

“We got all that we know about. No saying if there are any more out there.” Deryn nodded at Martez. “We can’t trust any answer we get from him.”

“They won’t…it isn’t…er…”

“What I was thinking, sir, was that I should ride ahead, with the bow, and make sure we don’t head into an ambush.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Regan said.

Nevin’s face shifted through a few emotions before settling in its normal angry contempt. “Right. Well. You keep a fucking sharp watch. I’m sick of hauling your ass out of the fire. I don’t want no fucking trouble on the way.”

Nevin was clearly unnerved at the thought of any personal danger, and was covering with a more vitriolic display of stupidity than normal. The act was unlikely to fool anyone, even Ross. Alana certainly did not need her empathy to see through it—which she was very pleased about. This was one case where she was making full use of her newly gained ability to block people out. She had no wish to get drawn into the cesspit of Nevin’s mind.

Deryn grinned as she turned away. Alana joined her by Tia’s side. Deryn pulled the horse around to form a partial screen while she bent her head and kissed Alana. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take good care.”

“I always do.”

“Nevin’s an idiot.”

“Is that supposed to be news to me?”

Alana rested her head on Deryn’s shoulder. “You’d be safer without him along.”

“But then he wouldn’t get the chance to hand Martez and the weapons over to Marshal Palemon and claim all the glory and the reward.”

“You’re not going to let him get away with that?”

“No. But it won’t stop him trying.”

“Will the marshal believe him?”

“I doubt it. Even without me there to say my bit, I’m sure Palemon knows Nevin would never put himself in the way of anything resembling work or danger.” Deryn’s grin broadened still more. “I did enjoy scaring him about the ambush.”

“Is one likely?”

“I’d say nonexistent. Martez would have wanted his whole gang along to feed his ego. But even if a couple were off somewhere else, they’d need to find out what happened, and then be willing to sit for days on the trail to Oakan, waiting for us to move him. On top of that, they’d be risking their lives against demon weapons.” Deryn shook her head. “Outlaws don’t stick together that well when things don’t go their way.”

Alana held Deryn tightly, hit by renewed fears. “Be very careful. Promise me that. I’m frightened, and I want you back safe.”

“I promise. It’ll be fine, even with Nevin.”

As if hearing his name, the sergeant shouted. “Hey you, Deryn. Get your fucking ass on your horse. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing round there. You can make out with your tart when you get back, not when there’s work to do.”

Alana grimaced. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it all the way to Oakan without killing him?”

“I’ve survived so far. But why do you think I wanted to ride Tia far enough in front so I can’t hear what he says?”

“Smart move.” Alana smiled. “It’s Ross I feel sorry for.”

“He’s good at ignoring things. Most of it goes over his head. Anyway, Nevin will probably get drunk and fall asleep before we’ve gone a few miles.”

Deryn gave Alana one final kiss and hopped into her saddle. With a wave, she urged Tia forward, on the road to Oakan.

Alana stood outside the marshal’s station, watching until rider and wagon vanished into the distance.

*

The road wound its way along the bottom of the narrow valley, climbing ever higher. As it neared the top of the Pendorial Pass the walls closed in. This was the highest point on the road to Oakan, and the first stretch to be blocked each winter. The snow cover was a clear foot deeper than in Neupor. Not enough yet to close the route, but it could not be long before a heavier snowfall made the journey too risky to attempt in anything other than the gravest emergency. The river would be passable for a while longer, until that also froze.

On either side, the valley walls were covered with tall pines dressed in their new cloaks of white, but in places, bare rock lined the side of the route. These stone faces were all just a little too flat and a little too perpendicular to be natural.

Deryn considered one such cutting as she passed, and then the surrounding terrain. What sort of power must the Ancients have commanded that they would routinely knock holes in mountains, to save themselves the effort of going over minor obstructions? The section of hillside that the Ancients had removed would take a score of men months to hack away, using pickaxes. The easing of the route amounted to no more than a rise and drop of fifty feet, surely a negligible savings in the context of crossing the pass.

Deryn glanced over her shoulder, musing on the subject. The wagon with Ross in the driving seat was a short way behind, and showing no sign of trouble keeping up with her pace. Yet this would not have been the case over the original land contours, and the larger the wagon, the more trouble it would have. Maybe the question was, what sort of wagons did the Ancients use, that made steady inclines so advantageous? Did they never go anywhere by foot or horse?

Whatever justification the Ancients had for their monumental landscaping, Deryn was grateful, in that it shortened the journey time to Oakan for the wagon, if only by an hour, and increased the chances that she would be back in Alana’s arms before the threatened heavy snowfall arrived.

The route to Oakan was a little over forty miles. If Nevin had gotten his ass out of bed early, they could have made the journey in a day, although at this time of year it would have meant starting and finishing in darkness. At the thought, Deryn shook her head despairingly. The chances of Nevin ever exerting himself were slightly lower than that of them all sprouting wings and flying to Oakan.

The upshot was that noon had passed and they were less than halfway. They would have to make an overnight stop at Buckie or Chatree, just north of Oakan, and finish the journey the next morning. If they could hand the prisoners over quickly, and turn straight around, maybe they could get back to Neupor before nightfall the day after—or maybe they could fly back.

Deryn rubbed her forehead to ease the frown. To be honest, the wasted time was an irritation, but not critical. The weather looked to be holding up well, and one more day away from Alana was not going to kill her, although Deryn was amazed at how much the thought chafed her heart. This whole relationship thing was affecting her more than she would ever have imagined.

The greatest problem was that, as far as Deryn knew, neither Buckie nor Chatree had a marshal station, or any secure lock-up for prisoners. Someone would have to stand watch over them all night. Nevin would certainly refuse to do it, and Ross could not be relied on. Deryn sighed. The outlook was not panning out well for her. Sleeping in the saddle was not one of her better skills, but if she wanted to stay awake that night, she ought to try a catch a little rest.

“Argh—” The scream from behind was cut short.

Deryn was reaching for her bow even as she wheeled Tia around.

The wagon was stopped thirty yards back, skewed across the road. One of the outlaws stood in the rear, holding the Witch-Lord’s sword above his head in a two-handed grip. Ross had thrown himself from the driver’s seat in a frantic bid to avoid the impending slash, but his feet appeared to be trapped in something and his shoulders were balanced ungainly across the carthorse’s rump. The shouting and activity were unsettling the animal, and Ross was no longer holding the reins. If the horse decided to bolt, it would not be easy to stop. Other figures were moving in the wagon behind the swordsman, but they were not the immediate threat. Ross’s arm had become tangled in the reins and his chances of escape were nonexistent.

Deryn drew the bowstring to her chin and released. The glowing blue arrow struck the standing man in the center of his chest and vanished. For the space of two seconds, the outlaw froze and then his knees gave way. He crumpled and keeled to the side, pitching over the side of the wagon onto the road. The sword fell from his grasp and clattered down beside him. Ross gave a yelp of surprise, but was unharmed.