Path of Fate (24 page)

“We had better dress these,” Sodur said, kneeling beside her.

“That’s what I had in mind. I’ve got some things here, though I would certainly appreciate help binding them. I seem to have lost my helper.” Juhrnus had disappeared, and Reisil giggled.

“You have a wicked streak, you know that?” Sodur said as he took the cloth and salve from her and dabbed at her sores.

Kebonsat joined them, washing the blood from her lower legs with water from his flask. His face was tight with anger.

“He is an ass. You are a strong, capable, wise woman. It is those things that give your face beauty and character. Those scars will not mar your kind of beauty,” he muttered.

Reisil blinked at him. “What a lovely, gallant thing to say. You are a knight indeed.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you would find much humor in Juhrnus’s mockery,” Sodur said.

“I rarely have before. But it seems so petty now. And really, he’d do more to remind me of the hurt I’ve caused Saljane.” Reisil’s voice turned serious, her mouth compressing. “I’ve done little to be proud of there.”

Sodur finished with the leg he was working with and changed sides with Kebonsat. “You are doing fine. You and Saljane had a rocky beginning, but you’re progressing well now. Don’t think I haven’t seen her affection for you. Animals are not like humans. They have no ability for human intrigue or machinations. What she feels, she feels. And she cares for you. She would not do so if she didn’t sense your affection for her.

“Now, it would be best if you could rest these wounds until they closed, but I see you will not be left behind, so like any
ahalad-kaaslane,
you will ride through in pain and suffering. Stubborn and willful—you are indeed one of us.”

A wide smile broke across Reisil’s face, and her heart thumped.

“Though you will not have to endure the pain of that whelp’s company,” Kebonsat growled. “You can ride with me.”

“Good idea, though you may ride that horse of yours off its legs before tomorrow. This journey of ours is proving a lengthier proposition than we hoped. It would be best if you could preserve the energies of your mount,” Sodur advised as he helped Reisil to stand. “Otherwise he will fail you when you need him most.” She fastened her trousers, waiting for Kebonsat’s blistering reply. Instead, his words came almost apologetically.

“You are right. I must curb myself.”

“It is no easy task, but necessary. You will better serve your sister.”

“I know. But every time I think of her—”

“Concentrate on the next footstep, not the length of the road,” Sodur said. “And you shall arrive at your destination in time.”

“You sound so certain.” Under the mocking tone, Reisil could hear the terrible need for reassurance, for the certainty that Ceriba
would
be rescued, alive and well. Sodur heard it too.

“If signs have any meaning, then we have the Lady’s own blessing in the shape of Saljane and Reisiltark.” Reisil started and Sodur opened his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We cannot overlook her gifts. You
are
a tark, as you are
ahalad-kaaslane
. And you have set us on the path of truth in the Lady’s name. We cannot ask you to be less than you are.”

Tears pricked Reisil’s eyes and she gripped Sodur’s hand in wordless gratitude.

 

Midafternoon and Kebonsat sat stiffly silent, his eyes darting and flickering, his body like marble. His horse no longer pranced and lunged, but walked stiff-legged, sweat streaking his haunches. Every snorting breath sounded like a drumbeat.

They followed Koijots, the trail easy enough even for Reisil to read. The kidnappers did not care about pursuit. Reisil recognized the camp where Ceriba and her captors had spent the night. She recognized the tree where Saljane had perched. She said nothing.

By now, heralds would have been sent to Vitne Ozols and Koduteel. Armies would be rousing like beehives stirred with hot sticks. Then they would surge into one another like red-eyed bulls. The ground would shake with the might of their clashing, the air would howl with voices of hate and vengeance. More bones, more blood, more orphans and widows, more crippled warriors.

But it might all be prevented if Ceriba could be found and returned; if the traitors could be discovered and eliminated. Which meant they could no longer dawdle along at the pace of a wounded woman and her bird.

Reisil spent the rest of the afternoon gathering her strength. It felt like a frayed and tattered cloak, made too thin and fine, inadequate for the weather in which she wore it. But it was all she had. Tomorrow she would belt it around her and stride out quickly and with purpose. She wouldn’t be the reason they didn’t reach Ceriba in time.

Night drew a curtain across the forest and forced them to halt. Sodur dressed Reisil’s wounds and served her supper. Kebonsat took the first watch. Reisil rolled herself into her cloak, pretending to sleep. She could no longer put off telling Kebonsat what she’d seen.

Exhaustion weighted her and it was all she could do to fight off oblivion’s sweet lure. She waited until she heard the deepened breathing of her companions. The sound came blessedly quickly, for they were tired as well. She rolled to her knees and saw the shining discs of Lume’s eyes watching her from where he curled up against Sodur’s back. Reisil nodded to him and clambered to her feet, edging out of the circle of slumbering bodies, going in search of Kebonsat.

He crouched along the path, head cocked. He lunged up at Reisil’s approach.

“It is only me,” she whispered.

“You should be asleep. You need your rest.” Rest to make her faster, rest to hurry them closer to Ceriba.

“Yes. But I also need to speak with you.”

Reisil looked over her shoulder, then edged farther away from the camp, drawing Kebonsat with her.

“What is it?” he asked almost gently, and she was grateful for the kindness.

“Remember when we got on the boat, when you asked me for news of your sister?”

His voice was puzzled. “Of course. The uneasy bond with you and your bird made you ill.”

“I said that. I meant for you to believe it. But it wasn’t true.”

“Not true? What do you mean? What are you hiding?” he demanded.

Reisil licked her lips, retreating farther down the path. She did not want the others to know what she’d seen. She wanted to trust them, but she had been wrong about Kaval. She reached for Kebonsat’s hand. It was rough and tense and it resisted her warmth. She let it go.

“I trust you, amongst us. And though I am
ahaladkaaslane
and should feel confident of my fellow
ahaladkaaslane,
I don’t. I can’t. Maybe I’m too new, too untrained. I don’t know. And if I can’t trust them, neither can I put any faith in your men. Do you understand?”

In the darkness she saw Kebonsat shake his head, shadow within the darkness.

“I will swear to both Glevs and Koijots,” he said. “They are bound to my family. Glevs’s father and grandfather served my family. They could not do this to Ceriba.”

“Couldn’t they?” Reisil asked. “Couldn’t either one be so loyal to Patverseme that he’d kidnap your sister to prevent a treaty he thought would destroy his country? But that’s of no matter. I will tell none of them now what I tell you. If you choose to share it, then you may. She is your sister, after all.”

“What? What about her?”

And she told him of all she’d seen. Of Ceriba’s rebellion. Of her punishment. The way the green-cloaked man had kicked her. Of the scar-faced man and the journeyman wheelwright from Kallas. Of Kaval.

Crickets chirped and a vole scuttled through the dried pine needles layering the forest path. Kebonsat stood still as one of the black-trunked trees. Reisil heard his breath like a winter wind, tearing and rough.

“Bastards.”

Cold as a stone dropped into a deep well. The word was a curse, a promise, a declaration of war.

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” Reisil said. “But there’s been no chance to speak with you alone. If I cannot trust someone I—” Her voice broke. “If I cannot trust my own judgment of Kaval, then I cannot say that any of our companions is not a traitor. By refusing the Lady’s gift, I gave up the benefit of Her wisdom, of Her guidance. I must rely upon my own, and it is faulty indeed.”

“Kaval was your lover.”

Reisil could not see his face or read in his voice whether his statement was an accusation. She flushed, keeping her voice steady with effort. “Yes.” Silence thickened between them and Reisil didn’t know what else to do or say. In the darkness she could not tell if his silence grew from fury, thoughtfulness or something else. Finally she turned around and walked back to the camp. He did not follow or call after her.

 

She woke with heavy eyes and a foul taste in her mouth. Her hand was sticky with pine sap where she’d slept in it. She fed Saljane from a rabbit Koijots brought her, thanking the tracker gratefully. Sodur checked her bandages. The wounds were healing well, no signs of infection. Still it would not take much to tear them open again. So be it.

~
How fare you?
she asked Saljane.

Sated. Irritable. Sore.

The goshawk tried to mantle but the wool of the basket foiled her wings.

~
You must rest or you won’t get well.

~
You do not rest.

~
I don’t want to fly.

Saljane swiveled her head and gave Reisil a burning look.

~
But I do want to go faster. It’s going to be a long, painful day. I would like to give you more of the sleep nectar so that you may sleep through it.

Saljane tipped her head, the white brow making her look rakish.

~
I am strong.

Reisil smiled.

~
I am not. If you were to sleep, I would feel better. To know you were comfortable.

She waited while Saljane considered, smiling in relief at her
ahalad-kaaslane
’s reply.

~
I have eaten. I have pain. I will sleep.

With that Saljane succumbed to Reisil’s ministrations, and even before Sodur had tied the basket to the pommel of Reisil’s saddle, the goshawk was asleep. Reisil took a draft of the pain reliever. It would not make her sleepy. She mounted without aid, though she bit the inside of her cheeks raw.

She looked down the path. How far had they taken Ceriba? How long before the war between Patverseme and Kodu Riik flared again to life? Reisil squared her shoulders. Today she would force Kebonsat to pick up the pace, if she had to lead the way herself. And they would ride into the night and break camp before dawn. They would earn back the leagues that had grown between them and the kidnappers.

He did not look at her when she pulled up beside him and then past, urging her mount into a jolting, ground-eating jog. She gritted her teeth again the pain, thanking the Blessed Lady that Saljane did not have to bear it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kebonsat cantered up beside her. Reisil nudged her dun gelding to go faster.

“I can either ride or talk. Which do you prefer?”

He glared at her, his mouth half-open. Then it snapped shut and he settled in beside her.

“You must not make yourself ill. It will serve no good purpose.”

Reisil waited until she could catch sufficient breath.

“In our hands we hold the fates of our two countries.”
If it’s not too late.
“We must regain Ceriba, and we must expose the traitors. For that I will die if I have to.”

She kept her eyes firmly on the path ahead, not wanting to see his response, especially if it was amusement at her rather extravagant statement. But he said nothing more, maintaining her pace exactly, letting her decide what she could do.

Soon, however, Reisil’s concentration turned inward. She was forced to trust Kebonsat to make sure that her dun gelding stuck to the path. It was all she could do to keep herself in the saddle, clutching a two-fisted grip on her pommel.

At the nooning stop, Sodur helped her down, but said nothing, merely checking her wounds. They had not broken open. Odiltark did very good work indeed. Reisil ate and drank standing, though her legs trembled and she could hardly hold her food. If she sat, she’d be too stiff to get on her horse again. She hardly noticed Sodur herd Upsakes and Juhrnus away from her, or Kebonsat and Koijots plant themselves around her as if she were a castle to be guarded. Then Kebonsat helped her mount and they were off again.

So engrossed was Reisil in handling her pain, in managing not to fall of her horse or slow their pace, that she did not notice when the attack came.

Suddenly it was as if she had woken up from a dreamless sleep into a waking nightmare. She heard screams, she heard cracking and whirring, she heard thunder and something like a rushing wind, though the air was calm. She saw nothing, not even her hands clenched around her reins, not even Saljane in her basket. Only blank darkness. Her throat closed and sweat sprang up all over her body.

The gelding lurched, flinging himself forward, and then they were galloping into blank darkness. She heard the air rushing in her ears, and screams, felt underbrush slapping her legs, crackling and crashing as they charged through the forest. She clutched at her saddle, yanking on the reins. But the gelding had the bit and terror spurred him on. Reisil seesawed back and forth on the reins furiously, the leather growing slick with sweat.

At last the gelding ground to a sudden halt, his haunches dropping, his forelegs thrusting out straight. Reisil was flung up against the pommel, which gouged into her stomach. Her breath left her in a coughing whoosh and for long moments she could not breathe. Pain raveled through her. She listed to the side, her breath coming in gasping whoops as her mount staggered for balance.

When at last she caught her breath, she heard only silence, but for the panting of her horse. He stood trembling, his skin twitching as though pricked all over by a swarm of stinging flies. His ribs swelled in and out between Reisil’s legs. His head dangled to the ground.