So now I had a choice. Either I cut my losses and lope for safety, or I try to find out what was going to happen to them—
The glow of torches and the sound of harsh voices from the courtyard caught my attention.
“Can we take the rings off this one, at least? He cut up Raban and Kemm pretty good.”
“This ruby will fetch a good price.”
“I don’t care, just be quick about it,” came a voice of command.
“I think this one’s only a servant. One ring in his pocket, and something tight on one finger. No stone in it.”
“That one’s the scribe-mage. Don’t touch anything on him. Your nose will fall off. Or something worse.”
“Aw, that old ring doesn’t look like it’s worth a tinklet anyway.”
I edged along my branch and peered cautiously below as the warriors marched out in pairs, carrying Rajanas, Thianra, and Hlanan. Talk, the clank of weapons, the clatter of boots and hooves echoed up the stone walls of the court as they stuffed the three into a waiting coach. Warriors crowded Rajanas as they stripped him of the jewels that I had mentally claimed as my own. Hmph! Then out came their own wounded, who got thrown over the backs of horses if they weren’t on their feet.
After that the warriors mounted quickly and ranged themselves in formation on either side of the coach. The leader wheeled his horse and flung down a bag of coins at the feet of the cringing innkeeper. Then he rode out at a gallop, the rest following behind in a cloud of choking dust that rose as high as my tree.
A betrayal. They’d been expected, and the innkeeper had been bribed.
It’s not your problem, weasel-wit, I told myself.
I knew that. But I still sat there, remembering Hlanan’s words about dignity. Thianra’s kindly interest and flashes of unexpected humor. I tried to harden my heart, to think instead of Rajanas’s cold sarcasm and ungentle hands, but even he had given me a knife during the pirate attack, when he’d had no hope of escape.
Meantime, there was that bag of coins . . .
I swung down hand over hand through the tree, and dropped onto the ground near the kitchen windows. Like many kitchens this time of year, they were partly open to let out the heat of the ovens.
Next to one of the windows an ancient vine grew. I pressed my face into it so the leaves would hide me as I peered between the casement and the wall.
I could see one side of the kitchen, a huge fireplace, and two or three big tables covered with rows of crockery. A tall woman with a face like winter was giving orders to a young boy with a loaded tray. The boy hefted the tray and disappeared. The woman started laying pastries onto the crockery.
I was about to turn away when I heard the innkeeper’s voice: “Why are ye standing around, ye lazy scum? Get to work!”
Two pairs of unseen feet scuffled away, then the door slammed.
The woman looked up from her pastries at the innkeeper, who was now in my view. He smiled at her in a fatuous and cringing way and dramatically dropped the clinking bag on the table. “So much for your fears, Runklia. I told you it would be an easy fortune.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels, puffing out his cheeks.
She stared at him stonily, totally ignoring his swagger, and shoved the bag to the very edge of the table with her tray. “Fool.” Her voice was low. “If any of them had escaped you’d soon be dead. What about the servants?”
The innkeeper’s mouth dropped open. Clearly he hadn’t thought about them. Then he shrugged, his eyes flickering around like bugs in a high wind. “Who cares? They can do nothing.”
“They can talk.”
The innkeeper squinted at her uneasily. “Talk? What do you mean?”
“I mean, you stupid slug, if you are going to serve such as she whom you bargained with today, you must make sure you think of everything. Those servants will get back to that young lord’s home and they will talk. If he lives near, then we’ll have trouble the sooner, because she won’t defend us, you can count on that.”
The innkeeper pursed his lips.
The woman went on, soft and venomous, “You will have to kill them. And quickly.”
Just then my ears caught the faint sound of jingling and horse hooves disappearing down the road. That’s Arbren and the others, or I’m the Emperor of Shinja.
“But I never . . . we shouldn’t have to . . . ourselves,” he protested.
“If you are the blowhard coward I take you for then you will have to use some of that—” She nodded at the bag of coins. “—and hire someone to do it for you. But first you will have to lock them up. In the cellar, where they cannot be heard.”
He stood there twitching uncertainly, his sweaty face none the prettier as he wrestled with his choices, then abruptly went out.
The woman picked up her pastries again as if nothing had happened.
One thing I knew for certain: these two stinkers were not going to enjoy the contents of that bag.
The woman filled a tray, then turned away to set it on another table. In that moment I hoisted myself noiselessly over the low sill, and crouched against a cabinet, keeping the edge of the table between me and Runklia’s face. I watched her feet come back to the big table. I heard the soft thud of pastry dough falling into crockery, then she turned to heft another tray away.
I shot my hand up, grasped the bag tightly so it would not clink, and my heart pounded as I crouched there under the table while more pastry thudded into crocks. At last she turned to heft another tray and I flipped myself through the window into a crouch on the ground just as the big door opened again.
The innkeeper said, “Well it’s too late. They put their carriage to and lit out while we were talking. So if I get asked, I’ll just say—ho! Runklia, where’d you put my money?”
“Didn’t you take it with you?”
I didn’t wait to hear her answer. Within the space of five breaths I was through the trees and out into the open fields, running my fastest.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been both well-rested and well fed; I ran without stopping until the moon was high. Reaching a secluded little grove beside a stream, I dropped into long, sweet grass and lay panting, staring up at the jewel-bright stars until I caught my breath.
When my heart settled back into its accustomed tread, I reviewed the fight. Rajanas had held some of those attackers from blocking my way to the window. Even a little rat of a thief deserves a chance to fight for its life, he’d said when the pirates attacked. He was a warrior, rough with his hands, caustic of tongue, but in his own way he was as fair as the scribe and the bard.
Except for taking me against my will at the outset, all three had been fair to me by their own code.
So . . . what about my code?
No, my mind wailed back. I’m free, and for the first time ever, I’ve got enough take to live in comfort for two seasons. Oh, the places I could go . . . the freedom that was now mine . . . but then treachery returned, in the shape of memory: Hlanan’s considered words, as if our conversations had mattered. As if I’d mattered.
Thianra’s laugh, her lovely voice drifting through the soft evening air.
Even a little rat of a thief deserves a chance to fight for its life.
Well, one thing I’d learned during my years of wandering: don’t stay mad at yourself for long, otherwise you’re at odds with the only ally you’ve got.
I finally admitted that I wasn’t going to run off and leave them to their fates, though every practical instinct clamored for me to do just that. I knew I was going to find them, and free them, if I possibly could.
If I could.
Of course I could outsmart a parcel of boulder-witted warriors!
All right, so I’d think of it as a challenge.
I rolled over and splashed water over my hot face, wondering how I’d go about finding them —
As soon as I thought it, Hrethan, came the inner voice of that bird, straight into my head. I am with them, and I will help you.
I fought against surprise—or more correctly the fury that attends surprise—and managed not to lock Tir’s thoughts out. My instinctive reaction of distrust dissolved when I remembered what the aidlar had vowed about never harming “my kind”: one thing I’d found about creatures other than human was that they never lied.
So, Where? I sent the thought back.
No words came in answer. Instead, a mental picture of moonlit fields, as seen from the sky. The black coach and its guard, still riding in two militarily straight lines, was moving westward at a trot.
Westward: back toward the harbor.
We need to act now, or they’ll reach Letarj before morning, I sent the thought to Tir.
I felt its agreement—and the confidence with which it awaited my plan. For Tir was a bird, and planning was up to humans. It had patiently flown with the carriage, and then when that was attacked, it flew to warn Hlanan. Too late. That much I gathered from the swift flow of images.
So then it followed the cavalcade that had captured Hlanan and the other two, loyally waiting for me to remember the three and concoct a rescue, just as would others of its kind.
That thought made me feel queasy.
You stay with them, and I’ll find a way to catch up, I sent.
Again I felt Tir’s unquestioning acceptance, and I got to my feet, wondering how I was to accomplish this. Their captors were riding steadily back down the river toward the harbor again. Running all night—which I couldn’t do—wouldn’t catch me up with them before they reached the harbor.
I walked slowly to the top of a little rise, breathing in the soft breeze that had sprung up. Wisps of fog drifted some distant hills; above, soft clouds rolled silently over the stars, blocking them from view. I sniffed the air, sorting the scents. Water . . . almond blossoms both sweet and bitter . . . citrus . . . cedar . . . and the pungency of horse. Horses?
As I crested a hill, I saw a farm nestled alongside a stream Clumped under some trees stood horse-shaped shadows, heads drooping. When I took a few steps, a few heads came up, ears alert.
Rejoicing, I ran down toward the fenced pasture.
Stealing horses has always been easy. I send them friendly thoughts, and the first one that responds, I climb on, hold the mane, and ride. When I’m done, I always send them in the right direction for home. Soon I was on the back of a frisky, freshly-shod young mare who was ready for a good gallop. She cleared the fence in a leap that left several hand-spans to spare.
The horse knew a path that paralleled the river road. She galloped happily, slowing when we encountered slowly drifting fingers of fog rising off the river. We cantered over the countryside, Tir sending mental pictures of the prisoners’ location from time to time. The aidlar’s position remained in my mind like a fixed star, and I guided the horse steadily toward it.
As I neared them, I wondered how I was to effect a rescue. I had myself and a bird, and against me were twice-twelve warriors, all armed. Rajanas, Hlanan and Thianra could not be counted on for anything; I did not even know if they were awake. Hlanan certainly had not been when they dumped him into that coach.
The obvious course was to use my shimmers somehow. But how?
My next thought was, I needed more allies. Tir? Can you find Arbren and those other servants?
I cannot hear their thoughts as I can yours. I see no other humans near.
So the servants were out. I figured they’d probably ride for home. As I recalled, none of them had been armed. But Rajanas’s six guards had been armed. Where were they?
I remembered Hlanan’s worry about losing trace of them, and I decided I’d better discount them.
All right, then. No human aid. Perhaps as well. No questions, that way. How about non-human?
I was near enough now to listen without ears or eyes. Digging my hands into the horse’s mane, I sat as steadily as I could and spread my thoughts out ahead, sensing . . . and I saw little lights of many colors, most but not all dim, as though asleep. Then I found Tir and the others, and near them, the red mental presence of a warren of snakes.
Snakes?
I opened my eyes, fighting the moments of nauseating vertigo that always clawed at my insides after that kind of exercise. As I scanned the black line of forest that the swirling mist nearly obscured, a plan formed. I nudged the mare into a gallop and dashed through the fields adjacent, until I had passed by the gradually slowing cavalcade. Tir! Can you fly ahead and show me the road?
The bird riding high overhead did just that.
Very close was a bend perfect for my needs. It meant I had to act fast.
I called to the snakes, much the same way I did the horses. They came at once, making me uneasy. Always when I used a creature this way, I felt honor-bound to assure its safety. That was part of my own code. It was always much easier to risk only myself.
When the snakes were in position just ahead of the bend, waiting in mild curiosity, I slowed my horse and slid off into the tall grass. Ramming my hands over my eyes, I stretched my hands out toward the road.
Tir! Road!
I saw the road below me, and the cavalcade moving steadily. Directly ahead of them, where the bend curved, I shimmered a straight section of road, blurring the real road.
The first pair of warriors rode without hesitation onto my shimmer-road. Their pace checked slightly when they encountered rough field, but they saw road, and mist swirled about them, so they kept going.
My heart fired with triumph as I ended the false road. I sent a wordless command to the snakes. A heartbeat after the coach trundled past them, moving slowly down the real road, the snakes rose up on either side, hissing and waving their heads. The horses who’d been following the coach reared, whinnying in fright. I heard the surprised shouts of the not-distant warriors.
Shutting the distracting sound out, I obscured the snakes so they could retreat into the grass and not be trampled, then I hid the coach with shimmer-trees and made a false road again, this time bending inland, away from the river alongside a feeder stream in a valley. The warriors raced along it, trying to catch up with the rest of their group—and the coach was now alone.
Not for long. I got up, fighting dizziness, and ran flat for the bulky shape ahead.
“Hey! Where are you going?” the man on it shouted after the last of his escort, but the thunder of hooves drowned his voice. He leaped down, opened the door—
I don’t know what he would have done with the prisoners, and maybe just as well. I launched myself into the air and landed on his back. We both fell onto the floor of the coach, off-balance. The heavy man managed to muscle me down onto the floorboards. He pulled back a fist about the size of a melon—and then Rajanas’s boot heel whopped the man’s head with a solid thwack.
The soldier fell slumped unconscious to the floor of the carriage, and I rolled free. “Come on!” I said. “They’ll figure out the dodge soon.”
“Thank you, Lhind.” Thianra murmured, her voice warm with gratitude.
“Here.” I reached for the nearest pair of hands, sawed at the rough rope with my knife, then I pressed the knife into one of the palms I’d freed. “Here. I’ll loosen the coach horses while you cut their ropes.”
I jumped out again, pulling the driver’s sword from its sheath.
Cutting the harnesses free was easier than trying to deal with ties and buckles. As I finished, the other three emerged from the coach, ghostly forms in the gloomy fog. I called my mare to me, and she came trotting out of the mist.
Rajanas started to speak, but Hlanan murmured something softly, and he fell silent, handing me back my knife.
Hlanan and Thianra mounted on one coach horse, and Rajanas took the other. We turned back upriver, and began to ride.