Mastiff (47 page)

I could not watch. Instead I moved out into the woods to search for any bodies, gear, or horses the enemy might have left. They had taken all they had with them, leaving us only those near our fire. When I returned to camp to inspect the Rats I thought might yet live, I found they had swallowed their tongues. I doubted that they had done it apurpose. The plot to kidnap Prince Gareth was riddled with mages who could make them do that.

Tunstall and I went through their pockets, with little satisfaction there, either. They’d left aught that might identify them behind. Even their weapons were unmarked, save for the signs of excellent care. They’d been professional fighters, but we all knew that. They’d chosen a time when we’d be in our deepest sleep, worn out from the day, and our guard in the same condition. Nor did it matter. Whoever had the watch could have been as fresh as April on the ocean, and we would still have been overwhelmed by the numbers of the enemy.

I was shocked by how many were slain, by us, by the horses, by their own hands or a mage’s spell. I hoped the enemy’s leaders would be shocked at the cost, too. They had sent more than twenty-five warriors to take us, and at least six mages. Later I would look at my companions, and Sabine’s horses, with awe. Had there been more witnesses than me, this would have become a battle for songs. As it was, I had run out of things to do, and Achoo turned every bandage that Farmer pressed to her wound crimson.

When I came over to them, Farmer shook his head. “I think she still lives only to say goodbye,” he told me softly.

Achoo tried to wag her tail as I knelt beside her. She licked weakly at the hand I used to cup her head. I took the latest bandage from Farmer and pressed it to the stitched-together wound. “Haven’t I told you again and again that you are not a fighting hound?” I whispered to her.

She ignored you because she was defending us
. Pounce sat next to me, washing a bloody paw. He had some cuts and I’d seen him walking with a limp, but he would heal in a day or two. He said only a killing blow would destroy his present body.
She always ignores you because she wants to defend us
.

“I’m so sorry, Achoo,” I whispered. “I wasn’t at your side.” Her side, Holborn’s side … I bit my lip. I had my share of death.

Achoo tried to raise her head and failed.

“You’d better go,” I told her. “Don’t stay here in pain. The Black God is very nice.” My throat was closing up. “You’ll see.”

A pox on your rules
, Pounce said. He did not seem to be talking to me.
Punish me as you like
.

I looked at him. He was illuminated in silver and very hard on the eyes, as if his light burned. He took two steps forward.
Take the bandage away, Beka
.

I did as I was told.

Pounce set a forepaw on Achoo’s bleeding wound. Achoo shuddered all over and whined, but held still. Pounce kept his paw there a moment longer, then took it away. The bleeding had stopped. Pounce began to wash the long gash. As he licked Achoo’s side, Farmer’s stitches came away. The wound closed and shrank, until it looked like an old scar Achoo might have carried for a year or two. She stretched out, closed her eyes, and sighed.

For a dreadful moment I thought she was dead. I put my hand before her nostrils and another hand on her ribs. She was breathing the deep, quiet rhythm of sleep.

And I will join her
, Pounce declared.
No fussing when we wake up, either. Fussing annoys me
. He curled up against her belly. If he did not go to sleep instantly, he pretended it very well.

“Pounce, won’t the gods be angry?” Tunstall asked, his voice soft. “So often you’ve told us they forbid you to interfere.”

Pounce opened one eye.
Let them be angry. It will take them a time to decide what to do. And if it isn’t permissible for a good hound like Achoo, it should be
. He closed his eye again.

“The horses,” Sabine said. Tunstall, Farmer, and I looked at her. “I’m sorry, Beka. I know we’ve had our very own miracle, but if the packhorses and the other mounts are gone …”

She was right. She and I went to find the mounts while Tunstall and Farmer set about freshening the camp. We found our horses not where we had left them, but across the stream in a small clearing, cropping the grass that was there. They had pulled up the tether stakes and found each other to make a small herd, close to their humans and away from the fire and the noise.

“Mother of Mares, I thank you,” Sabine whispered, when we’d counted and seen we had all of them still. We would have been seriously hampered without these brave companions. “Good lads,” she told a couple of the geldings who had come to nuzzle her pockets. “Good girls,” she told the mares. I wondered in that moment, with the waning moon gilding her dark hair, if she didn’t have a little horse goddess in her. Of course, the Mother of Mares sported no black eye.

We cozened and cajoled them into letting us gather their reins and lead them back to camp, bringing them into the side farthest from the dead.

Tunstall, still examining the enemy corpses, looked up at us, grim-faced. “Some of these men Farmer and I met at Queensgrace. They were in service to the count and to the baron of Aspen Vale.”

“Are you surprised?” Sabine wanted to know. I went to the coves I’d taken down with the blades from my arm guards and retrieved my weapons.

Tunstall spat in the face of one of the dead men, which set me back. Even for Tunstall, that was hard.

“I suppose that means you are not surprised they served Queensgrace and Aspen Vale,” my lady said, unflustered. She looked at the others. “Some of these are Prince Baird’s people.”

“His Highness is in it, he’s not in it,” Tunstall said wearily. “I’ll leave that for the king and the lords to decide, if the king is triumphant.”

My heart skipped a beat. Of course the king would be triumphant. Lord Gershom was at his side like a guardian eagle. The great priest mages of the temples of Mithros and the Goddess would uphold their vows to keep the kingdom in peace and prosperity—wouldn’t they? The realm’s great lords would come to the rescue of the Crown, surely.

Farmer came over to say, “I’ve set wards around the camp. Now that you’ve brought the horses inside, I can call up the power, and we can sleep.”

“Before you said you didn’t want to ward the camp,” I reminded him. “You didn’t want strange mages to know where you were.”

Farmer smiled crookedly, but it was Sabine who said, “I think half the kingdom knows where he is now. Am I right, Master Farmer?”

He nodded.

Tunstall thrust himself to his feet and scowled at us. “
Sleep?
Are you mad?”

“I am worn out,” Farmer replied, meeting Tunstall’s black gaze with his relaxed blue one. “So is Sabine, so is Beka. So, my friend, are you. The horses need to calm down, particularly Drummer and Steady. Horses don’t kill and immediately turn into sweet-natured riding beasts again. Tell him, Sabine.”

“He’s right.” She sighed, taking the pins from her braid. “Drummer is a warhorse, and Steady learned bad habits from him. They’re as jumpy as you are. I know we can’t lose time, but we’ll lose more if a horse goes lame or gets the colic, or if Farmer drives himself too hard.”

“I can put a hard ward on the camp that will keep any creatures from coming in or going out,” Farmer went on. “Look at yourself, Mattes—have you cleaned your wounds yet? What about Beka? Sabine? It will be wonderfully heroic if we drop dead on the road from infection.”

Tunstall grumbled, but he was the one to fetch water for heating over the fire. We spent the next hour or so cleaning and stitching each other up, and smearing balm on lumps, while Farmer worked charms that eased aches and purified the open wounds. Sabine required no stitching, but she had some truly magnificent bruises where enemy swords had worked with her own armor to smash her flesh. Tunstall needed three gouges stitched and a score of little ones covered with ointment. He complained ceaselessly until Sabine dumped a mug of healing tea on his head. I would have thought she had remembered Tunstall is a dreadful patient. Worse, Farmer discovered that Tunstall and Sabine have both been magically healed often enough that any spell isn’t as good on them as it should be.

I had my sore hand and my back—there was a great gouge on it, though I have no idea how it got there—seen to at last. Farmer used an application of some balm that he said was created by his master and should make me good as new.

“You don’t have to give other people credit for what you do,” I mumbled as he rubbed the stuff on my hand. “We all know you’re a strong mage.”

While the men looked the other way, Sabine cut my tunic and shirt to reveal the wound on my lower back. Gods be thanked, it was too shallow for stitches, just badly placed over muscle. The lady set a pad with more ointment on it over the cut, then slid a fresh shirt over my head.

Farmer hunkered down by the fire, his face in his hands. I found the pouch of nuts he’d used before to recover from the poisoned stream and gave them to him. Farmer chewed some and swallowed.

Tunstall passed a cup of tea to Farmer. “Can you still call up your wards?” he asked.

Farmer nodded. “The magic’s in them, not me. I only need a touch to wake them. And then I need sleep.”

Tunstall rubbed his eyes. “It’s near dawn, curse it. We must be on the road by noon. And those bastards will make up the time they lost yesterday.”

Everyone nodded and retreated to the bedrolls. Farmer and I said nothing about how Tunstall’s and Sabine’s bedrolls had merged into one where they lay down together, fenced around by weapons in easy reach in case of a second attack. I banked the fire well and went to my own bed, next to the heavily sleeping Achoo. While Pounce curled up against her belly, I stretched out along her back, resting my hand on her shoulder. She continued to breathe.

From the direction of Farmer’s bedroll, a couple of feet from mine, I heard a lonely sigh. I was trying to think of a response when sleep struck me like a rock. I don’t even remember Farmer calling his wards to wakefulness.

The Great Road North

writ as I find the chance to do so

The others slept till near noon, as far as I could tell. Not so I. I woke when Achoo did, about mid-morning, and sleepily watched as she found the wards. With a sigh, she went among the horses to do the necessary, then came back to Pounce and me. Pounce was eating something with a tail. I did not examine it. Instead I softened meat strips in a cup of water for my hound.

My hands were trembling because my fear for the cat was so great. I finally asked,
Pounce?

I do not know when the gods will choose to punish me
, he replied, knowing my question before I could think it straight at him.
We are at a crossroads in time, with all the possibilities so tightly woven together they may not even learn I have done it yet. Or they may know, and care less, because Achoo is one of the Beast People and not a human, and crossroads are governed by human fate. Or they are swept up in other matters. I believe the Goddess will take my side, since she has affection for me. Great Mithros may well do so, because he has an affection for loyal hounds like Achoo and has mentioned to me how he likes to see her work
.

Mithros knows who Achoo is?
I asked, giddy with the thought that my hound had drawn the favorable attention of the chief of the gods.

He
is
the patron of four-legged dogs and of the Provost’s Guard
, Pounce said.

As I fed the softened meat to Achoo, I asked,
What will they do to you?

Pounce curled up, having finished his own meal.
What can they do? Bind me to my own stars for a century or two, that’s all. It’s only because I poke my nose into human affairs that they have
any
power over me. Now hush. I’m going to nap some more
.

Once Achoo had gulped down her breakfast, she did the same. I found that, while I was no longer so fearful for my friend the cat, I could not go back to sleep. Instead I dressed and cleaned up, then set to bringing this journal up to date.

I also thought. Farmer was on watch last night, and thank the gods for that, or the enemy might have caught us abed, so quiet had they been. But how had they known exactly where we were camped? We had covered our tracks well, coming off the road.

Perhaps one of their mages was a tracker, though I’d never heard of such a thing. Of course, before Farmer, there were plenty of kinds of magic I’d never heard of. Still, Ahuda taught us, back in our Puppy days, “Go thinking everything is done by magic, and you’ll end with a knife in the back.” Most mages keep to one or two specialties in addition to some general guard, battle, and healing spells all mages are called on to use. The specialties were pretty well known among Dogs. The Viper was an all-around destroyer—a war mage. From things I’d heard at Queensgrace Castle, Elyot was good at defense and strength, while the count’s mage was a healer of land and crops as well as human beings.

No, it was far more likely the enemy had a very fine tracker. I need to stop looking for bogles where there are none.

written later

Farmer rose as I was making porridge and tea for our breakfast. He brought the wards down and went to the stream to splash his face and clean his teeth. The noises he made brought Tunstall and Sabine around, both of them sitting up with swords in hand. I covered a grin and pointed to Farmer. Pounce and Achoo had already followed him to the water.

We made a quick meal and packed up. Though Achoo tried to tell us that she was fine, I coaxed her into riding a packhorse today. Pounce jumped up beside her to keep her from fussing. He also addressed a few comments to the horse when the mare seemed inclined to refuse her passengers.

“I don’t understand,” Sabine said when she saw me tie ropes to hold Achoo in place. “I suppose we can take it for granted they mean to continue on to Frasrlund, but what if they’ve left the road?”

“I’m Achoo today,” I told her. I had found my cuirass and was putting it on. “I run at the side of the road and check for the slave middens we sought out before. When I see one, we have Achoo give it a sniff. She’ll tell us if we’ve got the right scent. We did it once a year ago, when she broke her foreleg in a trap.”