TRAILING HER
Over the next few days, the sky remained gray and heavy with foreboding, but the most it produced was a light drizzle, which was miserable enough. Karigan was still two days out from Sacor City, but she consoled herself with the fact that riding along the Kingway was much easier than bushwhacking through the woods, and that she’d be staying at the Hawk’s Tail in Deering the next night where she’d be able to dry out again, get a good meal, and best of all, take a steaming hot bath. It was the blissful thought of that bath that propelled her through the gloom.
All that lay beyond Deering and the Hawk’s Tail would prove more complex. She looked forward to seeing her friends and sleeping in the comfort of her own bed, but she did not look forward to the inevitable looks and questions she’d receive, for surely they’d heard what had befallen her in the Lone Forest.
Even more complicated was knowing Zachary, her sovereign, the man she loved, awaited her there. A man who was married, and whose wife was expecting twins. She both thrilled at the prospect of seeing him again, and dreaded it. She longed to be near him, to be held in his arms—imagining it made her feel feathery inside, but she knew she must keep her distance.
“Why must it be so complicated?” she asked Condor.
He twitched an ear at her. She patted his neck and drew him to a halt so she could dismount and stretch her back, maybe walk alongside him for a while. When she was down, he nudged her shoulder.
“You just want another of Elda’s muffins.”
He bobbed his head.
“Greedy beast. You had one this morning and the last one is mine.” He gave her such a look of dejection that she laughed. “All right, maybe I’ll share.” She pulled it out of her saddlebag and gave him half.
They continued on at length, but then she paused.
Paused, and watched from the corner of her eye. Listened hard. Condor, as if sensing the need for silence, stood stock still. There was the persistent drip of water from tree limbs to the forest floor on either side of the road, thunk, thunk, thunk, plink, thunk . . . Nearby a stream overflowed its banks from the rains and rushed and gurgled. A woodpecker tapped on a tree somewhere in the distance and leaves rustled. A biter buzzed by her ear.
What was she searching for? An indefinable something, some sound buried beneath the ordinary sounds of the forest, some vague shape absorbed into shadow and leaf. But she never observed anything for certain, whether it was a predator stalking her, man or beast, or even a ghost.
Or, maybe she was just tired. She didn’t get the best sleep with the nightmares, and memories of the devastation of the Ferris farm with its tiny graves were not helping. Keeping alert for raiders also kept her wakeful.
It was all probably just her imagination. Plus, Condor did not seem concerned. Still, she removed the bonewood from the sheath across her back just in case. She used it like a walking cane as if she were simply out for a stroll in the country, and led Condor on, one part of her listening for that latent something, and watching with her peripheral vision.
As she went on, her perception of being watched evaporated and the tension eased out of her neck and shoulders. She fell into a rhythmic stride that carried her at a good pace down the road, and proved meditative.
As they started around a bend in the road, Condor balked beside her.
“Wha—?”
She looked up and saw ahead of her three men sitting on their horses looking as surprised to see her as she them. A feeling of alarm rang through her. Even as she thought to mount Condor so she could run, the men spurred their horses forward. She hadn’t even gotten her toe in the stirrup when they bore down on her. She let go the reins and stirrup and shook the bonewood to staff length, but before she could raise it to defend herself, it was booted out of her hands. She stumbled back as the horsemen crowded and grabbed her. Condor whinnied and kicked. One of the horsemen reached for his reins.
“Run, Condor!” she cried.
He hesitated, his ears pricked.
“Run!”
He bolted. Karigan watched for a fleeting, frozen moment until one of the horsemen grabbed her and hauled her onto his horse in front of him. She kicked and hit to no effect. The man held her securely, and the horse stood stolid, unaffected by her struggles. It was happening again, she was helpless. She could almost hear Nyssa laughing at her.
“Let’s go,” the man told his companions.
She expected them to ride off. Instead, one of the men withdrew a spherical object from his belt pouch and twisted it. The woods, the road, and the sky melded together into a nauseating whorl. It made her light-headed, and reality turned unreal, birdsong turning to a painful high-pitched squeal that hurt her ears, her mind. The visual and aural torment became indistinct until consciousness left her.
It all unspooled, the blue, the green, the brown, until it once more became the sky, the woods, and the ground. The ground upon which her captor had dropped her. She lay sprawled on her stomach, and a wave of dizziness caused the world to whirl around her again, which in turn aroused nausea. She brought up Elda’s last muffin and a good portion of her breakfast. She closed her eyes, willing the motion to stop. It did not.
A man laughed. “The Greenie don’t like traveling. Don’t worry, happens to us all until you get used to it.”
The vertigo was too hard upon her to consider his words. She dug her fingers into soil as if to root herself and thus stop the spinning. It helped. As the world gradually slowed down, she caught some of the conversation of the men.
“—don’t want to tell him,” one was saying. “He’d just have them killed.”
“Hard to keep a secret like this in a busy camp, and if the general finds out, he’ll—”
She didn’t hear what their general would do, for her rebellious stomach brought up the rest of her breakfast. She groaned and rested her head on her arm.
“—do as I say,” a third man said. His voice was low, resonant. “Put her in with the other.”
They hauled Karigan to her feet and roughly dragged her forward. It occurred to her the air was sharper, drier. That couldn’t be right, but when she looked, the world now stilled, she realized they had in fact traveled, that she was no longer even in the Green Cloak, for the jagged peaks of the Wing Song Mountains, still cloaked in snow, reared up before her.
Enver of Eletia fell back and bided his time in the woods when it became clear the Galadheon sensed she was being followed. She’d be incensed, he knew, if she discovered that he was trailing her. She’d almost detected him at that ravaged farm the other day. His skills as a tiendan were failing because of his desire to see her.
It had not been easy to track her, as he’d sent his mount, Moonmist, back to her people, the terrial’ada, after he and Karigan had parted in the north. He’d taken his time wandering alone away from people, whether Eletian or human, to master the wild emotions and needs of accendu’melos, which every maturing Eletian endured. It had come upon him in the Galadheon’s presence without other Eletians to intervene, endangering her with his lack of control. He’d sent her away, and just in time.
The mad fever of it overrode all reason, gave in to instinct only. He passed his hand across his brow at the memory, and continued his passage through the woods just out of sight of the road. He’d hung back just enough to calm her suspicions about being followed, but close enough to ensure her safety. His hearing, as acute as any Eletian despite his being a half-breed, picked up the sounds of hoof falls and her voice as she talked to her horse. He smiled.
His mind was clear now, and he was horrified and humiliated by what he’d almost committed upon her in the midst of accendu’melos. The scent of her still called out to him, but it was calm, not a storm. A gentle tug. He refused to open himself to it for she did not love him.
After wandering in the north for a time, he had come upon her trail as she journeyed south. It was cold, but having filled himself with the scent of her during their travels, it was not hard to find. He sensed her continued suffering from pain, both mental and physical, imprinted in the traces of her presence. Concerned, he had followed.
Her trail had cut through wild lands and dense forest, which made no sense. Why did she not keep to established trails and roads? At her camping spots, though her fire was cold by weeks or days, he perceived the residue of nightmares and the taint of wounds still seeping blood.
She did not travel fast. She walked much of the time hindered by having to bushwhack through the woods. He finally caught up with her two days out of Boggs, watched over her as she writhed in bad dreams during the night. He yearned to comfort her, to help her find peace, but he knew she’d only withdraw further from him, and so he did not interfere and kept watch to ensure her safety from a distance.
Once she entered the gates of Sacor City, he would at last turn toward Eletia, leaving her none the wiser he’d been following her.
When he deemed enough time had passed for her suspicion of being followed to have waned, he resumed walking, keeping as silent as any Eletian in the woods. But when he heard more horses than just Condor, sensed men on the road near the Galadheon—dangerous men—he leaped into motion.
“Run, Condor!”
Her cry froze his heart. He tore through the woods, ran hard, but when he reached the road, the world screwed in an agonizing miasma that left him writhing on the ground. When it passed, he rose unsteadily to his feet and discovered that she and the men were gone. Gone beyond his ken. He could not sense her anywhere nearby.
He frantically searched the ground for clues and found Condor’s hoofprints where he had dug in and bolted. She’d cried for him to run, and Enver imagined he would not stop until he reached Sacor City. There were the confused hoofprints of other horses. An imprint that may have been from the Galadheon’s boots, but they just ended as if she’d been carried away. And carried away she’d been. His miasma had been caused by powerful magic. Ancient and powerful, but not Eletian.
He caught the after-scent of her fear and desperation, but all else was gone. He tilted his head back and howled his despair to the sky. What now? What now? He had failed her.
Then he saw her staff. She had dropped it, and it had rolled to the side of the road or been kicked there. He approached it with care. The black lacquered wood was almost like a blank space in his vision. It contained some minimal power to negate magic. He had borne it before, had carried it to her in Sacor City after it had returned from the future time with Lhean. Still, it required careful handling. Clearly it did not disturb the Galadheon’s special ability, but she was not a creature of magic as was he.
With some trepidation he grasped the staff—bonewood, she had called it—and almost dropped it for it nettled his hand. He’d expected it, but expecting it didn’t make the sensation any more pleasant. After a moment, it settled and just numbed his hand.
Now he must decide what to do. He certainly was not going to return to Eletia now. He could go to King Zachary and tell him what had befallen the Galadheon, but that would only slow him, and he had no wish to see the man she loved. No, he was on his own, and he would find the Galadheon. He would bring her to safety, but where could she be? The road offered no clue, nor could he sense her. He would have to rely on instinct. He would search all the lands if he must to find just a trace of her. He would find her, but he hoped it would not be too late.