PathofFate








Chapter 9



Odiltark’s cottage nestled on a hillside north of Priede. Ceriba’s trail went south along the river before turning deeper into Patverseme. Between lay the sprawling trading town. It had long ago been a frontier fort in Patverseme’s expansion northward. Now its gates hung open, intermittently guarded by a mix of militia-men in ragged uniforms and guardsmen too decrepit for any other work.
The group of rescuers passed through the gates with Kebonsat in the lead. Nothing the knights wore revealed their identities. All marks of heraldry had been left behind or packed away. In tall boots, leather breeches, heavy cotton shirts, oilskin cloaks, and plain scabbards, they looked like any other blank shields.
The streets threaded through a mazelike warren of disreputable shops and apartments boasting furtive doors and sly shutters. Sewage ran in trickles down the sides, dammed here and there in stinking lakes and putrid puddles. Reisil found herself gagging on the stench and pressed her hand over her mouth and nose. Saljane mantled, her head swiveling back and forth. A high, aching sound came from deep in her chest. Reisil laid a reassuring hand along her ahalad-kaaslane’s back.
The small group proceeded in silence through the warehousing district, an industrial area where the cartwrights, carpenters and smiths plied their trades, on down along the docks where they’d landed the night before and out through an unmanned postern gate, though the gate itself had gone missing. Reisil scanned the river for Voli’s flat-bottomed boat, but he’d already unloaded his cargo and found another. She stroked her fingers over Saljane’s smooth head. Likely she wouldn’t see Voli again.
A strange, bittersweet smile curved her lips. Her new life was a trade-off. If she hadn’t become ahaladkaaslane, she might never have met him, and she was glad she had. But her life would also bring too many good-byes.
She glanced down at Saljane, who returned her regard, white brow appearing arched as if asking a question.
~How fare you? Reisil queried.
There was a feeling of disgruntled frustration.
~You’ll not fly for a week or more, and then not far. You were brave. Did I tell you so? I am proud of you.
Reisil found herself grinning at Saljane’s radiating pleasure, that her ahalad-kaaslane recognized her courage, that she took pride in her. She nipped Reisil’s fingers affectionately.
Beyond Priede was a chessboard of farm and forestland, filled with the soothing twitter of birds and crickets. Reisil found herself relaxing, despite the knotty gait of her mountain horse. She breathed deeply of the mist-dampened air, redolent with mustard and nettle and pine.
Koijots met them half a league along, stepping out of the bushes. He leaped with liquid grace onto the spare chestnut Glevs had been leading. He reported to Kebonsat in a low voice. Upsakes urged his mount forward, his face a study of concentration, but Kebonsat did nothing to include him. Koijots soon concluded and nudged his mount forward, Kebonsat falling into frowning silence.
Koijots had tracked the kidnappers’ trail from the river, and by early afternoon they arrived at the place where the captors had cached their horses. The cropped grass, horse droppings and firepit indicated they had waited for several days. The kidnapping had been planned well in advance.
Sodur helped Reisil down, steadying her. She could hardly stand. Her wounds burned and her legs wobbled. She forced herself to walk off her stiffness, eating the soft cheese and nutty flatbread from Odiltark’s oven standing up.
“The trail leads west, as expected,” Kebonsat was telling Upsakes, who had his arms crossed over his barrel chest and his blocky chin thrust out.
“Your pet wizard tells you this, eh?” he sneered.
“Koijots is no wizard. He does not have any affiliation with the guild. He is a tracker. “Kebonsat kept his voice carefully neutral, but Reisil saw the muscles of his jaws knot.
“Hmmph. Doesn’t make what he did with that logjam anything else but wizardry. Can’t trust ’em. Minions of Pahe Kurjus, he said, naming the Demonlord.”
Reisil gasped and glanced furtively over her shoulder. Others did the same. To name the Dark Lord out loud was to call him forth from his netherworld of fire and night, torment and suffering. The wizards were said to worship him, that he was the source of their magic. Reisil thought of Mysane Kosk and believed it.
Kebonsat turned first white, then red. His fingers flicked toward his sword hilt. He flexed his hand, forcing his hand away with effort.
“Koijots is my sworn man,” he said in an icy, flat voice. “If he serves the Dark One, then so do I.”
Upsakes didn’t look away from the unyielding challenge on Kebonsat’s face, his jaw working as if he’d say more. Reisil tensed. At last the square-faced ahaladkaaslane muttered something and looked away. Kebonsat gave a jerky nod and pivoted on his heel, striding over to check his saddle. Resil let go the breath she’d been holding. Glevs glowered at his friend’s back, gripping his own sword with a white-knuckled hand. After a moment he pulled his hand away, then spat, nearly hitting Upsakes’s foot. The ahalad-kaaslane glanced sharply at the Patversemese knight, then deliberately turned his back. Glevs took a step after him, but Koijots caught his arm and led him into the trees.
Reisil fed Saljane another dose of the sleeping nectar before mounting again. Kebonsat kept the pace slow, for her sake, she knew. But though his face remained expressionless, his bay gelding caught his mood and worked himself into a lather, jolting forward in eager leaps and bursting hops. Yet even with the slow pace, by evening Reisl had rubbed the inside of her knees raw on the saddle. The wounds on her face made it nearly impossible to chew her supper, and the wounds on her ribs allowed only shallow breaths.
The next morning her companions gave her all the rest they could, saddling the horses and packing the camp while she slept. She ate her cold sausage sandwich breakfast in a blurry haze, her body screaming protest at being back in the saddle.
~Are you hungry? she asked Saljane, inwardly scolding herself for not thinking of her needs sooner.
~I ate.
Reisil caught an image of Sodur with a skinned rabbit, slicing off strips for an eager Saljane.
~That was kind. It should have been me.
Reisil projected a feeling of apology and remorse. ~You are hurt. He is not.
~I am your ahalad-kaaslane.
~I hurt you.
Now Reisil felt Saljane’s emotions rush over her in thick, black waves. They tumbled over her in cresting surges A torrent of grief, guilt and self-doubt. Saljane was young, Reisil realized, trying to hold herself still in the buffeting torrent. Young and inexperienced, despite her raptor confidence and metallic resolve. She thought bitterly of those first moments together, those first wildly loving moments. If only she’d accepted Saljane then . . . She drew a breath and sighed. Water under the bridge. Regrets would not help now. Now she must look to the future. They would fledge together in many ways. They would teach each other and care for each other.
~We hurt each other. We didn’t mean to. We won’t again.
~We are ahalad-kaaslane.
Reisil heard the tentativeness in Saljane’s mindvoice even as the bird affirmed their pairing. She winced. She knew she was at the root of this alien uncertainty. Saljane could not yet trust Reisil, could not believe she would not suddenly change her mind. Time. It would take time, and remembering to feed her when she was sick and hungry.
~We are ahalad-kaaslane, she repeated, resolving to stop regretting what was irretrievably lost.
Saljane burrowed down into the basket, tucking her head under her wing. Like a child, Reisil thought. Trusting in her parent to protect her in the dangerous, helpless night. She swallowed around the hard lump that rose in her throat. A gift indeed. She sent the Blessed Lady a quick and heartfelt prayer of gratitude.
The morning passed uneventfully, if slowly and painfully. The muscles of her legs knotted and twisted. The sores inside her knees broke and bled and dried, then cracked open again. Adding to her misery was Juhrnus, who had unaccountably come to ride beside or behind her as the trail permitted. He aided her dismount at the nooning, bringing her bread and cheese with yellow slices of sweet onion and tender watercress.
She leaned against the trunk of a papery-skinned white birch, eyeing him over her lunch, making no effort to disguise her suspicion. He sat stiffly, dropping heavily to a log. His sisalik hissed and gouged his claws into Jurhnus’s wrist to steady himself. Reisil smiled as Juhrnus yelped and dropped his food onto the forest mat. But the loving expression on his face as he soothed his ahalad-kaaslane with a low croon astounded her.
Reisil polished off her lunch, then fumbled in her pack for a disinfectant salve and cheesecloth. She eyed the ointment and bandages Odiltark had given her. She could wait to change her bandages until the evening, she decided, suppressing the voice in her mind that told her to change them immediately.
“Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Juhrnus, blocking her passage as she retreated into the privacy of the undergrowth.
“Is that your business?”
He crossed his arms smugly across his chest. “Upsakes assigned me to you. So you are my business, little sister.”
“Assigned you to me?”
“Since you’re so new to being ahalad-kaaslane and all. And he and Sodur have better things to do than shepherd you. So do I. Course, if you’d bonded with your goshawk when she first came to you . . .” His sneer made Reisil want to kick him.
“Well then, if you’re going to insist on tagging along after me like a little puppy, come on. I have saddle sores and I mean to take care of them. In fact, I can use your help, if you’ve got the stomach.”
He frowned and opened his mouth, but Reisil marched off as best she could on her sore, shaking legs. A watchdog. To keep her from making mistakes? Or to keep her from finding Ceriba?
She shook her head. Upsakes had made certain this rescue effort was well outfitted, and he’d reasoned the Dure Vadonis away from haring off after his daughter. Would a man who wanted to see an end to the treaty argue for the safety of the Dure Vadonis?
Reisil sighed. Upsakes was not at all likely to be a traitor. More likely, in fact pretty plainly, he just didn’t like her. He knew she’d refused Saljane’s first overtures, that she had not wanted to be ahalad-kaaslane. That alone would be enough to make him hate her. And then for her to help Koijots with that spell! No, if Upsakes didn’t like her, it wasn’t because she upset any plans to kidnap Ceriba and end the treaty between Kodu Riik and Patverseme.
She found a fallen tree and sat on it, setting her supplies beside her. Juhrnus halted a few feet away, watching her pull her trousers down. Reisil concentrated on the sores, determined not to let him bother her. She gasped as she bent and the wounds on her ribs pulsed fire.
Her trousers stuck to the sores and a whimper escaped her lips as she pulled the material free, her eyes watering.
“Those are pretty ugly. Like the ones on your face,” Juhrnus commented unhelpfully. “You’re going to scar bad, you know. Good thing you’re ahalad-kaaslane after all. Now you won’t be expected to get a man.”
Reisil gave him a disbelieving look. What he said was probably true. Brutally true. His lack of tact—or was it malice?—should not have surprised her, not after years of it. But somehow it did. As ahalad-kaaslane, shouldn’t he have been nobler? More mannerly? Not for the first time did Reisil wonder about Juhrnus’s choosing as ahalad-kaaslane.
Then the moment struck her and she began to giggle, and then laugh. Soon tears rolled down her cheeks and she grasped her stomach, the laughter jerking her stitched wounds.
The rest of her companions came running and now the situation seemed even more ridiculous. There was Juhrnus, looking dumbstruck, like a smug cow struck by lightning on a clear blue day. And she with her trousers around her ankles, blood seeping down her legs from her saddle sores, laughing hysterically.
Sodur rushed forward, alarm in his dark eyes. Upsakes eyed her with cold disapproval, while Kebonsat and Glevs looked askance from her to Juhrnus and then to the blood on her legs. Finally she gained control, taking deep breaths. She felt good. Oh, indeed, sometimes laughter was the best medicine!
“My apologies,” she said, hiccuping a little. “I have just been informed that my scars now make me so ugly I shall never attract a man again.” She looked at Juhrnus, who had the grace to blush and stammer something about not really meaning it. “Lucky for me, I am not particularly interested in attracting a man.” She thought of Kaval. “In fact, I’m completely and heartily not interested, so no need for anyone to feel sorry for me—if indeed you were inclined to do so.” The look she cast at Juhrnus was meaningful. “Of course, it calls into question why you might be trailing about after me. Perhaps you like ugly women?” Now she looked at Upsakes. “Or is it something else entirely?”
Ho! That made him mad. He hadn’t wanted her to know. She smiled again, a kind of joy running through her. This was almost fun.
“We had better dress these,” Sodur said, kneeling beside her.
“That’s what I had in mind. I’ve got some things here, though I would certainly appreciate help binding them. I seem to have lost my helper.” Juhrnus had disappeared, and Reisil giggled.
“You have a wicked streak, you know that?” Sodur said as he took the cloth and salve from her and dabbed at her sores.
Kebonsat joined them, washing the blood from her lower legs with water from his flask. His face was tight with anger.
“He is an ass. You are a strong, capable, wise woman. It is those things that give your face beauty and character. Those scars will not mar your kind of beauty,” he muttered.
Reisil blinked at him. “What a lovely, gallant thing to say. You are a knight indeed.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you would find much humor in Juhrnus’s mockery,” Sodur said.
“I rarely have before. But it seems so petty now. And really, he’d do more to remind me of the hurt I’ve caused Saljane.” Reisil’s voice turned serious, her mouth compressing. “I’ve done little to be proud of there.”
Sodur finished with the leg he was working with and changed sides with Kebonsat. “You are doing fine. You and Saljane had a rocky beginning, but you’re progressing well now. Don’t think I haven’t seen her affection for you. Animals are not like humans. They have no ability for human intrigue or machinations. What she feels, she feels. And she cares for you. She would not do so if she didn’t sense your affection for her.
“Now, it would be best if you could rest these wounds until they closed, but I see you will not be left behind, so like any ahalad-kaaslane, you will ride through in pain and suffering. Stubborn and willful—you are indeed one of us.”
A wide smile broke across Reisil’s face, and her heart thumped.
“Though you will not have to endure the pain of that whelp’s company,” Kebonsat growled. “You can ride with me.”
“Good idea, though you may ride that horse of yours off its legs before tomorrow. This journey of ours is proving a lengthier proposition than we hoped. It would be best if you could preserve the energies of your mount,” Sodur advised as he helped Reisil to stand. “Otherwise he will fail you when you need him most.” She fastened her trousers, waiting for Kebonsat’s blistering reply. Instead, his words came almost apologetically.
“You are right. I must curb myself.”
“It is no easy task, but necessary. You will better serve your sister.”
“I know. But every time I think of her—”
“Concentrate on the next footstep, not the length of the road,” Sodur said. “And you shall arrive at your destination in time.”
“You sound so certain.” Under the mocking tone, Reisil could hear the terrible need for reassurance, for the certainty that Ceriba would be rescued, alive and well. Sodur heard it too.
“If signs have any meaning, then we have the Lady’s own blessing in the shape of Saljane and Reisiltark.” Reisil started and Sodur opened his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We cannot overlook her gifts. You are a tark, as you are ahalad-kaaslane. And you have set us on the path of truth in the Lady’s name. We cannot ask you to be less than you are.”
Tears pricked Reisil’s eyes and she gripped Sodur’s hand in wordless gratitude.
 
Midafternoon and Kebonsat sat stiffly silent, his eyes darting and flickering, his body like marble. His horse no longer pranced and lunged, but walked stiff-legged, sweat streaking his haunches. Every snorting breath sounded like a drumbeat.
They followed Koijots, the trail easy enough even for Reisil to read. The kidnappers did not care about pursuit. Reisil recognized the camp where Ceriba and her captors had spent the night. She recognized the tree where Saljane had perched. She said nothing.
By now, heralds would have been sent to Vitne Ozols and Koduteel. Armies would be rousing like beehives stirred with hot sticks. Then they would surge into one another like red-eyed bulls. The ground would shake with the might of their clashing, the air would howl with voices of hate and vengeance. More bones, more blood, more orphans and widows, more crippled warriors.
But it might all be prevented if Ceriba could be found and returned; if the traitors could be discovered and eliminated. Which meant they could no longer dawdle along at the pace of a wounded woman and her bird.
Reisil spent the rest of the afternoon gathering her strength. It felt like a frayed and tattered cloak, made too thin and fine, inadequate for the weather in which she wore it. But it was all she had. Tomorrow she would belt it around her and stride out quickly and with purpose. She wouldn’t be the reason they didn’t reach Ceriba in time.
Night drew a curtain across the forest and forced them to halt. Sodur dressed Reisil’s wounds and served her supper. Kebonsat took the first watch. Reisil rolled herself into her cloak, pretending to sleep. She could no longer put off telling Kebonsat what she’d seen.
Exhaustion weighted her and it was all she could do to fight off oblivion’s sweet lure. She waited until she heard the deepened breathing of her companions. The sound came blessedly quickly, for they were tired as well. She rolled to her knees and saw the shining discs of Lume’s eyes watching her from where he curled up against Sodur’s back. Reisil nodded to him and clambered to her feet, edging out of the circle of slumbering bodies, going in search of Kebonsat.
He crouched along the path, head cocked. He lunged up at Reisil’s approach.
“It is only me,” she whispered.
“You should be asleep. You need your rest.” Rest to make her faster, rest to hurry them closer to Ceriba.
“Yes. But I also need to speak with you.”
Reisil looked over her shoulder, then edged farther away from the camp, drawing Kebonsat with her.
“What is it?” he asked almost gently, and she was grateful for the kindness.
“Remember when we got on the boat, when you asked me for news of your sister?”
His voice was puzzled. “Of course. The uneasy bond with you and your bird made you ill.”
“I said that. I meant for you to believe it. But it wasn’t true.”
“Not true? What do you mean? What are you hiding?” he demanded.
Reisil licked her lips, retreating farther down the path. She did not want the others to know what she’d seen. She wanted to trust them, but she had been wrong about Kaval. She reached for Kebonsat’s hand. It was rough and tense and it resisted her warmth. She let it go.
“I trust you, amongst us. And though I am ahaladkaaslane and should feel confident of my fellow ahaladkaaslane, I don’t. I can’t. Maybe I’m too new, too untrained. I don’t know. And if I can’t trust them, neither can I put any faith in your men. Do you understand?”
In the darkness she saw Kebonsat shake his head, shadow within the darkness.
“I will swear to both Glevs and Koijots,” he said. “They are bound to my family. Glevs’s father and grandfather served my family. They could not do this to Ceriba.”
“Couldn’t they?” Reisil asked. “Couldn’t either one be so loyal to Patverseme that he’d kidnap your sister to prevent a treaty he thought would destroy his country? But that’s of no matter. I will tell none of them now what I tell you. If you choose to share it, then you may. She is your sister, after all.”
“What? What about her?”
And she told him of all she’d seen. Of Ceriba’s rebellion. Of her punishment. The way the green-cloaked man had kicked her. Of the scar-faced man and the journeyman wheelwright from Kallas. Of Kaval.
Crickets chirped and a vole scuttled through the dried pine needles layering the forest path. Kebonsat stood still as one of the black-trunked trees. Reisil heard his breath like a winter wind, tearing and rough.
“Bastards.”
Cold as a stone dropped into a deep well. The word was a curse, a promise, a declaration of war.
“I wanted to tell you sooner,” Reisil said. “But there’s been no chance to speak with you alone. If I cannot trust someone I—” Her voice broke. “If I cannot trust my own judgment of Kaval, then I cannot say that any of our companions is not a traitor. By refusing the Lady’s gift, I gave up the benefit of Her wisdom, of Her guidance. I must rely upon my own, and it is faulty indeed.”
“Kaval was your lover.”
Reisil could not see his face or read in his voice whether his statement was an accusation. She flushed, keeping her voice steady with effort. “Yes.” Silence thickened between them and Reisil didn’t know what else to do or say. In the darkness she could not tell if his silence grew from fury, thoughtfulness or something else. Finally she turned around and walked back to the camp. He did not follow or call after her.
 
She woke with heavy eyes and a foul taste in her mouth. Her hand was sticky with pine sap where she’d slept in it. She fed Saljane from a rabbit Koijots brought her, thanking the tracker gratefully. Sodur checked her bandages. The wounds were healing well, no signs of infection. Still it would not take much to tear them open again. So be it.
~How fare you? she asked Saljane.
Sated. Irritable. Sore.
The goshawk tried to mantle but the wool of the basket foiled her wings.
~You must rest or you won’t get well.
~You do not rest.
~I don’t want to fly.
Saljane swiveled her head and gave Reisil a burning look.
~But I do want to go faster. It’s going to be a long, painful day. I would like to give you more of the sleep nectar so that you may sleep through it.
Saljane tipped her head, the white brow making her look rakish.
~I am strong.
Reisil smiled.
~I am not. If you were to sleep, I would feel better. To know you were comfortable.
She waited while Saljane considered, smiling in relief at her ahalad-kaaslane’s reply.
~I have eaten. I have pain. I will sleep.
With that Saljane succumbed to Reisil’s ministrations, and even before Sodur had tied the basket to the pommel of Reisil’s saddle, the goshawk was asleep. Reisil took a draft of the pain reliever. It would not make her sleepy. She mounted without aid, though she bit the inside of her cheeks raw.
She looked down the path. How far had they taken Ceriba? How long before the war between Patverseme and Kodu Riik flared again to life? Reisil squared her shoulders. Today she would force Kebonsat to pick up the pace, if she had to lead the way herself. And they would ride into the night and break camp before dawn. They would earn back the leagues that had grown between them and the kidnappers.
He did not look at her when she pulled up beside him and then past, urging her mount into a jolting, ground-eating jog. She gritted her teeth again the pain, thanking the Blessed Lady that Saljane did not have to bear it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Kebonsat cantered up beside her. Reisil nudged her dun gelding to go faster.
“I can either ride or talk. Which do you prefer?”
He glared at her, his mouth half-open. Then it snapped shut and he settled in beside her.
“You must not make yourself ill. It will serve no good purpose.”
Reisil waited until she could catch sufficient breath.
“In our hands we hold the fates of our two countries.” If it’s not too late. “We must regain Ceriba, and we must expose the traitors. For that I will die if I have to.”
She kept her eyes firmly on the path ahead, not wanting to see his response, especially if it was amusement at her rather extravagant statement. But he said nothing more, maintaining her pace exactly, letting her decide what she could do.
Soon, however, Reisil’s concentration turned inward. She was forced to trust Kebonsat to make sure that her dun gelding stuck to the path. It was all she could do to keep herself in the saddle, clutching a two-fisted grip on her pommel.
At the nooning stop, Sodur helped her down, but said nothing, merely checking her wounds. They had not broken open. Odiltark did very good work indeed. Reisil ate and drank standing, though her legs trembled and she could hardly hold her food. If she sat, she’d be too stiff to get on her horse again. She hardly noticed Sodur herd Upsakes and Juhrnus away from her, or Kebonsat and Koijots plant themselves around her as if she were a castle to be guarded. Then Kebonsat helped her mount and they were off again.
So engrossed was Reisil in handling her pain, in managing not to fall of her horse or slow their pace, that she did not notice when the attack came.
Suddenly it was as if she had woken up from a dreamless sleep into a waking nightmare. She heard screams, she heard cracking and whirring, she heard thunder and something like a rushing wind, though the air was calm. She saw nothing, not even her hands clenched around her reins, not even Saljane in her basket. Only blank darkness. Her throat closed and sweat sprang up all over her body.
The gelding lurched, flinging himself forward, and then they were galloping into blank darkness. She heard the air rushing in her ears, and screams, felt underbrush slapping her legs, crackling and crashing as they charged through the forest. She clutched at her saddle, yanking on the reins. But the gelding had the bit and terror spurred him on. Reisil seesawed back and forth on the reins furiously, the leather growing slick with sweat.
At last the gelding ground to a sudden halt, his haunches dropping, his forelegs thrusting out straight. Reisil was flung up against the pommel, which gouged into her stomach. Her breath left her in a coughing whoosh and for long moments she could not breathe. Pain raveled through her. She listed to the side, her breath coming in gasping whoops as her mount staggered for balance.
When at last she caught her breath, she heard only silence, but for the panting of her horse. He stood trembling, his skin twitching as though pricked all over by a swarm of stinging flies. His ribs swelled in and out between Reisil’s legs. His head dangled to the ground.
Fear wrapped Reisil in a cloak of clammy shadow. She reached down with one hand and stroked the gelding’s neck, taking comfort in his warmth.
“Easy, boy,” she whispered. “Easy. We’re going to be all right.” His skin shuddered and his head shot up, banging into her forehead and nearly knocking her senseless. He jumped into a half rear, settling down as she continued to soothe him, clutching at the saddle for balance. When he stood still again, Reisil stroked her fingers over Saljane, her head pounding from the impact with the horse’s bony head. The goshawk stirred beneath her touch, but did not wake. Relief ran over her like a warm shower. Saljane was still alive.
Reisil tried to see, but the darkness was complete and irrevocable, as if she stood in a cave of coal. Where was she? Where was the trail? Where were her companions? Why couldn’t she see?
“Kebonsat?” Reisil called. “Sodur?”
There was no answer.