Isaiah and Hereward traveled relatively quickly given the circumstances of their journey. The cart worked well, although Hereward had to cling uncomfortably in order not to be catapulted out onto the uneven ground. They had little food with them, and even less water, and Isaiah pushed them hard in order to get to the first of the springs where both hoped they’d find food and water.
At least, Isaiah pushed himself hard. He woke Hereward well before dawn each day, giving her a little of their meager store of food and a sip or two of water, and then they were off, Isaiah striding resolutely forward into the predawn darkness, dragging the little cart behind him. He walked for many hours at a time, taking breaks only reluctantly, and then only when absolutely needed. Hereward thought he was pushing himself too hard, desperate to get to Maximilian Persimius before all was lost.
Hereward thought a great deal about Ishbel during the long days spent clinging to the cart as it jounced along. She’d seen the woman many times during her time at Aqhat, and had even served her luncheon on occasion. Ishbel had been the kind of woman that Hereward could only dream of being: beautiful, elegant, remote, and exuding a natural nobility that only those born into the aristocracy, and into power, could manage. Hereward had always felt like an awkward peasant around her.
Isaiah had adored her. It had been evident in his manner in her company, in his every glance and every gesture. It had been the gossip of the palace that he had finally fallen in love with a woman, and that a woman pregnant by another man.
Hereward thought Isaiah’s efforts to reach Maximilian were probably in vain. She doubted that any man could resist Ishbel’s allure for very long. Elcho Falling was likely already doomed.
She decided that life as a servant was much less problematical. Look where nobleness and power and purpose had brought Isaiah and Ishbel.
On the third day of their journey, about noon, they arrived at the first of the springs. It had been evident on the horizon for some two or three hours before they reached it, a green smudge of feathery palms and dense shrubbery, and Isaiah had doubled his efforts the moment he’d spotted it.
There was a wide track leading in through the vegetation and then, wonderfully, the sound and smell of water.
Isaiah almost ripped apart his canvas harness in his efforts to strip it off. He took two steps toward the water, stopped, then came back to help Hereward, struggling to rise from the cart.
He was grinning from ear to ear, and Hereward supposed she had as wide a smile on her own face. Isaiah carried her to the water and set her down on her feet, and then both of them stripped away their dirty clothing and waded in.
Isaiah checked to make sure Hereward was steady on her feet, then sank below the surface. Hereward took another two or three steps into deeper water, then did the same.
Oh gods, it felt wonderful. She scrubbed away at her body, wishing she had soap but not minding too much—just the blessed cool water was miracle enough.
“Mind the bandage about your throat,” Isaiah said to her as she resurfaced. “I’ll take it off for you in a moment…let it soak and it will come away easier.”
Hereward nodded, lying back and allowing the water to wash over her body. She swore she could actually feel the sweat and dried blood lifting away from her skin in great layers.
She felt movement: Isaiah coming up behind her. He took her head in his hands and massaged her scalp, then ran his hands down her shoulders and raised her upright. Very gently he eased the bandage and compression pebble away from her neck.
“There’s a huge scab over the wound,” he said, his fingers moving over it gently.
“Can I do without the bandage now?” Hereward said, hoping she didn’t have to put the filthy thing back on again.
He nodded. “Be careful not to knock the scab free, though. It must go right down to the torn vein.”
His fingers moved from her shoulders down to her upper arms.
Hereward took a deep breath.
Very slowly Isaiah ran his fingers back up her arms, over her shoulders, and then down to the rise of her breasts.
“Are you remembering how you and Ishbel used to bathe in the Lhyl?” Hereward said.
Isaiah jerked his hands away.
“You must miss her,” she said, very angry with him. Isaiah did not particularly like her, yet he could not resist trying to seduce her.
She supposed he had to find some use for her, now that he’d given up so much on her behalf.
“But think,” she said, “if you manage to get to Maximilian in time, and he relinquishes Ishbel, then you can—”
Isaiah’s left arm suddenly slid about her waist, pulling her tight against him.
Hereward opened her mouth to protest, now incensed at his behavior, but Isaiah clamped his right hand over her mouth.
“Quiet!” he hissed into her ear. Then: “Listen.”
Hereward struggled against him for a moment, still furious at being held so tight. Then she forced herself to relax, and listen.
There was something in the shrubbery to the west.
Something moving.
Isaiah’s hand and arm slid away from Hereward and he started to move very quietly back to the bank, where he’d left his sword.
The sound of movement became louder—cautious footfalls, and the scrape of a body against the bushes.
Hereward swallowed, suddenly scared. Skraelings? She glanced at Isaiah, wishing he had not moved out of the water.
The Skraelings did not like water; they’d be safe enough if they stayed away from the bank.
The noise of movement grew louder, and Hereward jerked her head toward the sounds.
They were very close now.
Isaiah was moving about the pool, his sword in one hand, his eyes intent on the shrubbery. Then, suddenly, he stopped, and a look of utter disbelief came over his face.
Hereward gasped in surprise.
A large, pure white stallion had moved to the edge of the pool, and was now watching Isaiah, ears laid back, eyes rolling, breath snorting nervously.
Isaiah’s entire posture changed. He laid the sword on the ground, his every movement slow and reassuring, then began to talk to the horse in a combination of soothing words and tongue clicks.
The stallion relaxed, ears flickering forward, and he lowered his head to the water and took a sip.
Isaiah came closer, keeping up the soothing monotone of sounds.
Then he was next to the stallion, stroking him down, and the horse was relaxing against him, blowing droplets of water out of his nose, and nuzzling Isaiah’s chest.
“He is missing his master,” Isaiah said, glancing at Hereward as he rubbed the horse’s ears. “And now we have a horse with which to travel. Thank the gods!”
“I cannot believe the Skraelings managed to leave that meal alone,” Hereward said.
“He must have been hiding out close to the water,” Isaiah said. “Perhaps standing in it whenever the Skraelings approached.” He smiled, still rubbing the horse’s ears. “He must be an intelligent fellow.”
The horse proved a boon. Isaiah abandoned the cart and they rode the horse, carrying with them what little supplies they needed now that they had a string of springs from which to fish and water.
On the fifth day away from the River Lhyl, they passed to the north of Sakkuth.
“You don’t want to go into the city?” Hereward said from her perch behind Isaiah on the horse.
Isaiah studied the city in the distance. It looked gray and still, its great turrets and spires empty of all life.
“What are you thinking?” Hereward asked softly.
“That the city is likely full of Skraelings,” he said. “That they’re all staring at us from behind walls and shutters. That while the city looks empty, there are a million eyes, fed and feasted on the former inhabitants, watching our every move.”
Hereward shuddered, wrapping her arms about her chest as she looked away.
“We’d best keep moving,” Isaiah said, and urged the horse forward.