Fire of the Soul (37 page)

Calia found Garit sitting on a stone bench in
a small garden just off the queen’s chambers. In the exact center
of the garden a fountain splashed merrily, its water shimmering and
sparkling in the waning daylight. Garit rose at her approach.

“I’ve heard the news. Poor Dyfrig,” he said.
“Are you ready to leave?”

“Durand will be along in a few moments. I
left him with Ilona; they deserved some time alone together.” Calia
studied his face, noting how careworn he appeared. “You don’t have
to return to Tannaris with me.”

“Of course I do.” He sounded angry. “Mallory
did not drown in the harbor. You heard him; he wants that cursed
Emerald and he won’t stop until he holds it in his wicked hands. He
will follow us, and when he finds you, he will try to kill
you.”

“Even so,” Calia began, but Garit cut her
off.

“I failed Chantal when she needed rescue from
a villain. I will not neglect to help another woman in similar
danger.”

“I am not your responsibility.”

“Aren’t you?” He glared at her.

“I lied to you,” she reminded him, knowing he
hadn’t forgotten. “I concealed important information that you had
every right to know.”

“Will you believe me if I tell you that I now
understand why? Calia, can you forgive me?”

“I ought to be asking the same question of
you.”

“Perhaps we ought to agree to forgive each
other.” Garit offered a slow, sweet smile that warmed Calia’s
heart.

“On the dock today, when I thought we all
might die,” he went on, “I realized that the greatest treasures in
any man’s life are the people he loves. I had no time to think it
through just then, mind you. I was rather busy with Mallory. But
I’ve been sitting here, alone and quiet while I waited for you and
Durand to finish your business with Laisren and Ilona, and I think
I understand now.

“I dearly love my grandmother, difficult and
demanding though she is and ever will be. I love my frivolous
sister and my nephew, her son. I love my half-brothers, though I
barely know them as yet. If I survive our next adventure, I intend
to remedy my neglect of those boys.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Calia told him. “Belai
and Kinen need you.”

“Especially with my grandmother in charge of
raising them,” Garit added wryly. He took a deep breath before
continuing. “Most of all, Calia, I love you.”

“You what?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard him
correctly.

“I love you. That is what I’ve been pondering
here, in the queen’s garden. I intended never to love again after
Chantal died, so I told myself over and over that I didn’t – I
couldn’t possibly – care for you. And that belief of mine was the
greatest lie between us.”

She was silent for a long time, perhaps for
too long. Garit began to look worried.

“I have an obligation,” she began.

“I know,” he said, sounding angry. “You have
promised to deliver the Emerald to Ultan, even though it rightly
belongs to Domini Gundiac and ought to be handed over to King
Henryk, so he can send it on to Gundiac.”

“Now, that is a matter of opinion,” Durand
interrupted them. “The Emerald was discovered in Chandelar and it
belonged to the mages there until it was stolen long centuries ago.
Calia, surely you won’t break your promise to Laisren?”

“Never,” Calia declared with firm purpose. “I
understand what’s at stake. I will carry the Emerald to Tannaris
and give it to Ultan.”

“Or die in the attempt,” Garit said in a tone
that made clear his displeasure.

“And then I will ask Ultan – no, I will
beg
him to return the Emerald to Domini Gundiac,” Calia
finished.

“He won’t agree,” Garit protested.

“Nevertheless, that is what I intend to do,”
she told him. “You may join Durand and me, or you may stay behind
or return to Sapaudia to explain the situation to King Henryk. The
choice is yours.”

“After what I’ve just confessed to you, do
you actually expect me to watch you ride off into danger? I will go
with you,” Garit grudgingly agreed.

“Good.” Calia smiled at him. “Thank you for
not trying to change my mind. Not that you’d have succeeded, but
thank you anyway.”

The late King Audemer of Kantia had been
famous for building roads. The two best-known, most traveled of all
his construction projects were the long road from Kerun City to the
Western Hills, and the shorter highway that led north from the
capital to the Northern Border, the oft-disputed lands between
Kantia and Chandelar.

When Dyfrig succeeded his older brother on
the throne he decreed that the roads should be maintained as
Audemer had established. Dyfrig also commanded that the guard
stations located at intervals along the roads should be kept in
good repair, for those stations were often the only places where
travelers might rest in safety.

Kerun City sat in a wide bowl of flat land
that gently sloped upward on three sides. The Western Hills were
far away, but the mountains of the Northern Border were just a
two-day ride along King Audemer’s straight, stone highway.

Laisren had sent a troop of men-at-arms to
escort Calia and her friends through the mid-summer dusk as far as
the first guard station. It was close to midnight and almost
completely dark by the time they dismounted. A faint mist hovered
low on the land, but directly overhead Calia could see stars. She
sensed, but could not see the mountains a short distance ahead.

“We are to see you off at dawn, then we are
to return to the city,” the leader of their escort said to Garit.
“You’ll have to go on from here without us.”

“I know the way into Chandelar,” Durand told
the man. “I’ve traveled between Kerun City and Tannaris many
times.”

“Then you’ll know to beware of the outlaws,”
the leader responded. “I’m not sure I’d take a woman through these
mountains without a large escort.”

By that time Calia was too tired to worry
over what might befall them the next day. The guard station was
clean and she was given a private guest room on the second floor.
She fell asleep the moment she laid her weary frame down in the
surprisingly comfortable bed and she did not waken until a servant
banged on her door just before sunrise.

At first the going wasn’t difficult. The
morning was clear and pleasantly warm and the road sloped gently
upward. By midday they were past the foothills, into the higher
mountains, and there the road narrowed.

“It stops altogether just before we reach the
Northern Border,” Durand told them when they paused to eat a bit
and drink from a stream. “The last guard station is there and I
think we ought to stop for the night. We’ll have a hard, cold ride
tomorrow and the next day, so it’ll be best to start fresh, with
the horses well rested. We will need to be on guard against
outlaws, too.”

“Where will we stop tomorrow night?” Garit
asked, scanning the mountains ahead with a frown.

“Tomorrow, we camp in the safest place we can
find,” Durand replied. “But the following night we ought to be out
of the mountains and into Chandelar. With any luck we’ll find a
farmer who will let us sleep in his hayloft. That’s what I usually
do when I travel this way.”

“Calia should not have to sleep in the open,”
Garit protested.

“Oh, hush,” Calia said, laughing to make
light of a situation she did not relish. “I knew when I agreed to
make this journey that it would not be an easy one. I have to do
this, Garit.”

“I know.” Garit heaved a great sigh, then
offered his hand for Calia to remount. “Let’s move on.”

The last guard station was a rough place,
built of stone to withstand the mountain winds, and the wooden
staves that formed its roof were held down with large stones. The
captain in charge of the place insisted that Calia take his room
since there were no guest rooms, saying he didn’t mind spending the
night in the barracks with his men. Garit and Durand rolled
themselves into blankets and slept just outside Calia’s door.

Again they set off at daybreak, their
saddlebags replenished with fresh, dark bread and wedges of the
hard local cheese.

“You’ll not lack something to drink,” the
captain said as he bid them farewell. “Any stream that’s this high
in the mountains is safe for drinking.”

They left the three extra horses behind, to
be returned to the palace stables when the current troop of guards
at the station was relieved. They had ridden those animals hard for
two days and, as both Durand and the captain pointed out, they were
going to have to carry food for the horses, grass being almost
non-existent in the mountain heights.

The air grew thinner and colder as they
climbed. Streamers of clouds sent occasional snowflakes drifting
down on them. As the day ended Durand found a cave that he said he
had used before. After gathering brush and dried branches they
built a fire well back from the entrance in hope of not alerting
outlaws to their presence. For the same reason they brought the
horses into the cave.

“They’ll provide a bit of warmth, too,”
Durand noted.

“Is this what you do each time you come here
on King Henryk’s business?” Calia asked.

“I know the way well.” Durand flashed a grin
at her. “It doesn’t seem like such a long ride with you two for
company. I’ll take the first watch,” he added, unrolling his
blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. He moved past the
horses to the entrance of the cave.

“Lie down near the fire,” Garit advised
Calia. “I’m afraid you won’t be warm enough.”

“Where will you be?”

“Right next to you,” he answered. “If
anything startles you, wake me.”

They lay side by side, Calia staring up at
the curving stone roof of the cave. After a while she turned her
back to the fire and found herself looking directly into Garit’s
eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Oh, Garit.” She kept her voice as low as
his. “I cannot promise anything until we reach Tannaris, because I
have no idea what Ultan will expect of me next.”

“He cannot expect anything more of you than
to deliver that cursed jewel at the risk of your life,” Garit
muttered.

“You are right, of course. But even so, I
feel obligated to fulfill this duty to Laisren before I go on with
my life,” she whispered.

“I suppose Laisren put that notion into your
head by magic.”

“If she did, I entirely agree with it. I will
do as I promised, Garit.”

“Surely you know by now that I won’t try to
dissuade you. Calia, you are as valiant as any honorable knight and
I love you even more for your determination.”

“Do you?” When he stretched out his arms
Calia nestled into them, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank
you for saying that.”

His mouth touched her forehead first, then
her nose and then, finally, he took her lips in a sweet, lingering
kiss that was so full of promise it almost made Calia weep. This
was different from the passionate interludes she had shared with
him aboard ship, when Garit was still ignorant of her true
identity. This was a kiss between loving souls who knew each other
well and knew they could depend on each other. Passion would return
later, the kiss promised, after their journey was completed.

She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder
and she did not waken later, when Garit carefully settled her on
her own blanket by the fire and went to relieve Durand at the cave
entrance.

The fourth day of their journey dawned cold
and grey, with occasional snow pellets and sleet to make their way
treacherous. They reached the summit of the narrow path by
midday.

“We are well and truly in Chandelar now,”
Durand said. “From here on the streams flow northward; that’s what
really makes the border between the two countries, not the
artificial lines on a map that mark out the two sides of the
Northern Border.”

After a brief halt to rest and water the
horses they went on. Calia soon discovered that riding along a
slippery downward path was far more difficult than riding up a
mountainside. They went slowly, picking their way with care,
mindful of icy patches. Durand rode first, then Calia, with Garit
last.

No one said aloud what Calia believed they
were all thinking. They had been remarkably fortunate to come so
far without any accidents to humans or horses and without meeting
the outlaws who infested the heights. Just a little farther, she
told herself, and they’d be low enough for rain instead of snow,
with the Plain of Tannaris ahead of them and a straight, easy ride
to the capital city.

Even as she contemplated that prospect with
rising spirits, her horse stumbled and fell.

“Calia!” Garit was off his horse and at her
side, removing her feet from the stirrups and dragging her away
from the thrashing horse. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just bruised and out of breath,” she
gasped. “And shaking. I thought I was watching the way so
carefully.”

“You were not to blame.” Durand had returned
to where Calia sat on the ground with Garit’s arms about her while
she tried to catch her breath. He dismounted, strode a few steps
along the path, then came back to throw down two pieces of a thin,
almost colorless rope. “This is what tripped your horse.”

“But I was following directly behind you,”
she said. “If the rope was blocking the path, why didn’t you—” She
stopped, looking around at the jagged rocks, her heart beating
wildly.

“My horse activated the mechanism when we
passed it,” Durand said. “Tripping the second horse in a group
causes more confusion. The first rider will turn back, and it’s a
narrow trail.”

“You are saying that outlaws did this,” Garit
said. “Come on, Calia, get up and onto my horse. Yours has a broken
leg. Durand, start down the path. Calia, go with him and stay
close. I’ll put this poor animal out of its misery and then I’ll
follow you on foot.”