Smoke and Rain (14 page)

Kam glanced over and offered a careful smile. "Wes and I went to the auctions yesterday when I got your note. Wes drew your half of profits from the forge and I helped him pick these two. He saw to it their feet are set and the harness is sound." He shifted awkwardly, looking down."We've been damned bad friends the past few days."

Wes handed Arman a small bag. "There was some left over. And that bandolier you could never part with is in the dun's saddlebag."

Arman's chest was too tight for speech. He had worried their friendship would still be bitter when he left. He went to the dun, rubbing the animal's neck. The chestnut behind him nosed his pocket until he gave her the hard pear he had hidden.
I really couldn't have found better friends.
It drove what he was leaving behind even farther home. Arman's notion of home had been where he slept at night. Now home would be two places. "We leave at sundown. Can they stay here 'til then?"

Wes nodded. "Hiram will keep an eye on them." He fixed Arman with an unreadable stare. "What are you doing now?"

Arman helped Kam unharness the horses and see them settled. Once he returned to the inn it would be to gather his pack. He was not ready for that, not yet. "Would you mind walking with me?" He knew he did not need to say it was the last time he would see home for a long time. They knew. "Fates, enough with the dour faces, you're not going to a funeral."

Wes glared. "Don't give us a reason to, understand? You have work at the forge already waiting."

Kam shrugged. "I'll miss you a bit, but I get all the ladies you leave behind." They took a winding road through the Upper and around the market. They stopped at each of their childhood haunts. Kam told several stories, though they differed from how both Arman and Wes remembered them. It was dusk when they finally arrived at the Cockerel, but Arman was ready.

Φ

The gate to the northern road was propped open and Arman sat on it while the horses grazed. The hills beyond were rocky and rolled into the brown grassland beyond. Alea's soft footsteps made him turn. The light of determination in his eyes was soothing, and she offered him a smile. "Is this it?"

"This is it. I said my various good-byes." He gathered the reins of his dun and mounted up.

She eyed the saddle wryly. "I was worried you'd have me riding sidesaddle." She swung up easily and settled herself. She caught Arman's wistful gaze at the city. He seemed unable to look away. "I'd imagine she'll be green and blooming when you next see her."

He turned towards the road and urged his horse into a trot. "Do you think Azirik will overlook her? Do you think she'll be spared this war?"

Her eyes were sad and steady. "I think nothing will be spared."

The 23rd Day of Glasmord

Pardelan Province, Athrolan

THE FAINT ROAD GREW steadily more apparent as the two riders moved north. Their path led across the rolling grassland. "When will we enter Athrolan?" Alea tugged her cloak tighter about her.

Arman laughed. "We crossed the border this morning, at the river. I think we're in Pardelan province, will be until the forest. We should make the first way house by dark."

Alea hummed appreciatively. "I'm looking forward to a real bed." They had spent the first weeks of Glasmord camping. Any travelers that would have crossed their paths had been carefully avoided. The road was better kept than near Vielrona. Now that they were within the bounds of a kingdom on unfriendly terms with Mirik, Arman had deemed it safe to stop at a way house.

"Riding it makes you understand exactly how large it is. Maps don't do it justice."

"Athrolan is the largest of the northern nations, if memory serves. Or Ban, perhaps, but their borders are mostly wilderness, so the maps often disagree." Alea scanned the horizon, more for pleasure at the deep blue and purple of dusk than for safety. The sprawling structure of the way house was tucked into a dell below. A few houses scattered about it with paddocks fanning out beyond. Even protected by the surrounding hills, the village was vulnerable in the expanse of rolling fields.

"You were so foreign and scared when we first spoke that I forget you know as much about the world as any Vielronan, even if it's simply from books." Arman laughed, "C'mon, I think our horses could do with a run and I bet they have stew on the fire down there."

The icy air cut through Alea's cloak and burned her lungs, but she could not help her own smile. Racing over the grassland was a freedom of which she had only dreamt. Their horse's unshod hooves thudded against the frozen ground as they trotted into the village. The large stables were already partially filled, and Alea met Arman's gaze over her chestnut's back. "Winter is an odd time to travel."

His mouth was a grim line as he shouldered his pack. "It's the only time armies are slow and camped. Winter is safety during war." Warmth hit them like a blow when they stepped into the tavern. They cut a winding path through the crowded tables to a booth in the back. Arman shoved their packs under the table. "I'm going to see about a room and exchange our coin. When I get back we'll figure out a plan."

Alea watched him cross the room. She liked the warmth, but not the noise. It was similar to Vielrona, but this village's business was travelers, not regular common folk in from harvesting. The rowdiest table had a dozen men dressed in gray and white. The tower emblem on their chest marked them as Athrolani soldiers, as did their dark hair. They were well into their cups and loud.

"Finally a chance to get out of the fields, eh?" one man called. "It's about time Her Majesty dragged us southern lads into the campaign. There's only so long a man can hunt bandits before he becomes one!"

Another man swatted the first's shoulder. "I, for one, look forward to visiting Rose Lane while we're in Ceir Pardelan!" The men roared appreciatively, several making lewd gestures.

Alea blushed and looked away, realizing they were discussing a brothel.

"They've no rooms left," Arman thudded down onto the bench across from her. "We can sleep on the benches here. It will be warm, though that patrol will be up half the night." He pushed a tin tray holding bowls of soup towards her. "Drinks are coming."

"Those soldiers spoke of a campaign. Is every kingdom at war?" She blinked at the tray. "Arman, you forgot spoons."

"Athrolan doesn't use them, nor forks. Just fingers really. Soup you drink from the bowl."

Alea pursed her lips in confused displeasure, but did as he told. The soup was hot, if thin. "I hope they at least use napkins."

Arman's gaze flicked to the men at the table. "In regards to the less barbaric practice of war, milady—The Athrolani fight the Berrin raiding their borders." He shoved a small purse across the table. "Here, in case anything happens. It's Athrolani coin. Always offer half price for anything—"

"And don't show how heavy the purse is. I know, Arman."

His expression softened and he unfolded the map that had brought them thus far. "Sorry." He pointed to the road that they had followed. "In a day's time our road splits. The West Road leads to Ceir Pardelan, then north from there. The Mountain Road goes north through the forest and—obviously—mountains. It passes fewer cities and at a distance, but goes through Forts Hero and Barren. Marl Bodi also lies along it."

"You want to know which route to take?"

"It's up to you, really. I've never been out of Vielrona for any stretch of time—I know as little about this as you. I've also been thinking that we could leave a note for the guard."

"What if it is intercepted? We can't expose our route. Even I'm not that naive." She put her head in her hands. "Arman, we should have brought an army and people to do these things for us."

Her unexpected humor startled a laugh from him. Another patrol of soldiers entered, cold wind on their heels. The greetings from their drunken compatriots drowned out all but the most persistent thoughts.

Alea smiled wryly. "Reminds you a bit of Kam, yes?"

Arman laid back against his packs. "In that case they should settle soon—he could never hold his ale." His grin faltered when the newcomers' captain pulled the other officer to the back of the room.

"Good to see you, Captain. We were told the entire military was mobilizing heading to each provinces' city. This isn't a simple campaign anymore, is it?"

"A Berrin force is headed northwest, towards Bodian. They have other soldiers with them—a few score."

"Azirik?"

"More than likely. I'd not like to face that alliance. We intercepted a scout and it seems they intend on attacking the larger forts. My guess would be Hero or Shadow."

Arman glanced at Alea, all humor gone. She pulled her blanket over her, pillowing her head on the packs. "We'll figure it out tomorrow." Her voice rasped with fatigue. Running from Miriken was one thing. Dodging two armies across a war torn kingdom would be entirely different.

Φ

The breath on Alea's face was hot and the hand gripping her knee was hard. Her eyes flew open to see an Athrolani soldier leaning over her.

“Hello there, pretty thing.” His murmur slurred around his thick lips.

Alea scrambled farther back into the booth. A quick glance told her Arman was nowhere to be seen and most of the other soldiers were sleeping. “Get away.” She was not sure if it was rage or fear that caused her voice to shake. His breath huffed past her, bringing the scent of stale alcohol.

“Come now, I'm a better get than that lad you ride with.” He reached to stroke her face.

She grabbed his wrist, digging her nails between the tendons. Her other hand snaked up as she pulled him forward and the edge of her hand struck his neck.

He jerked back then grabbed at the front of her dress. The officers rose quickly at the noise.

Alea's eyes hardened and she slammed her hands into the mans chest and shoved. He flew across the room, black fog exploding between them. The man crashed into his companions' table. The room fell silent as Alea's power writhed back into her hand.
Fates, what have I done?
She grabbed their packs and fled through the rear door, tugging her cloak on. “Arman!” She slammed into the privy.

He whirled, one hand fastening his pants, the other reaching for a dagger. “Damn, milady, what in the world—”

“No time, we've got to run!” She tossed over his pack and dashed into the stables. The horses shifted uneasily and her fingers fumbled with the harness. She had revealed them, again. It would take little to retrace their steps if she continued to expose them.

Arman burst into the stall beside hers and flung the saddle onto his dun. Suddenly he froze. “Milady, you might want to turn about.”

She whirled. A pale face peered from the darkness behind her, black eyes glittering. She backed up, colliding with her horse who let out an irritated snort.

The man stepped into the line of lantern light that lanced through the windows. “Easy there.” He held up a pair of sleeping rolls and Arman's cloak. “I think you forgot these.” The winding tattoo was more obvious in the stark lighting. He handed them over to Alea slowly, keeping his eyes trained on her. His cloak's hood was still pulled up, but the head wrap was gone. The chips in his horns caught the light. “Seems you remember me. That's good. I remember you too.” His gaze suddenly hardened. “Why did you lie?”

Alea flung herself at her horse, but the animal shied and she slipped. The pale man grabbed her arm in a grip like iron. Arman snarled and clambered over the stall's wall, only to be pinned against the wood by the madly prancing horse.

Alea tried to throw power at the pale man, but nothing came. She let her weight drop and pulled from his hold. “I thought you were our ally.”

“And I thought you would have better manners.” The man's gaze softened, despite his hard words. “There's no need to run. That lot in there are not your enemies. Well, excepting that one man.” He held out a hand. “I think it would behoove everyone if we went inside and had a bit of a chat.”

Alea's gaze flicked from him to Arman then back again. “Only if you stop being such a boor.” To her surprise both men burst into laughter. Her own lips twitched and she giggled. She knew it was nerves finally releasing, but the sensation felt good.

“I've a room upstairs, I think we'd best let the men compose themselves before they see you again. Running off is not the action of an innocent woman.” The horned man led the way up a rear staircase and into a small room. It was small and drafty, but a fire burned cheerfully at the hearth. He shucked off his cloak and tidied the sheets on his bed. “I'm afraid the mattress is the more comfortable of the seats, though that doesn't say much.” He set a kettle on the hearth's hook and rummaged through a worn pack. His movements were those of a man very used to solitude. He finally sat, his gaze far too intense for Alea's liking. “That was quite the display. You know what you are?”

“Yes. I learned some time after we first met. Would you mind giving us your name?” Alea made herself meet his gaze.

“An'thoriend Domariigo.”

Arman's brows rose. “Your parents must have a cruel sense of humor, naming you after a story.”

“I assure you my father had little humor of any sort. I'm afraid it was my own deeds that made that name famous.” He pointedly looked back to Alea. “Now tell me how you found out about your power.”

“I was attacked in Vielrona. Something in my mind snapped and when I raised my hands to defend myself, power flew from them. It was much like what happened downstairs, but far less controlled. Men died.”

Arman frowned. “Milady, you ought to wear a sign about your neck that says “Do Not Touch.” If not for your own safety, for others.”

Alea smiled slightly, but An'thor ignored him. “You've never had power before this?”

“Not that I remember. Not even during the attack on Cehn.” Alea cocked her head. “Why are you here? Did you find the Laen? You certainly don't seem surprised by my power.”

An'thor looked away. “I found them, but it did little good. I thought the world was ending – it would be, if she had been what we thought. I went to the house of a very old friend. She was one of Azirik's servants year ago. She was able to hide that she was Laen for a long time. When she became pregnant with you, however, she knew she had to flee. She tried to return after you were born, but it was too dangerous. In her absence your brother was put into the Miriken army and Azirik had declared war.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but you said 'brother.' I thought that Laen only reproduced among themselves, and never had boys.”

“One did. Your mother had a son.”

“Half brother, then.”

“No. Your mother may be Laen, but Azirik is as human as our innkeeper.”

“You're saying her father is the one hunting her? And her brother is in his army?” When An'thor nodded Arman sighed. “Begging your pardon, milady, but this is more dramatic than a Berrin play.”

Alea stared at her hands, unable to speak. She could not decide whether to be excited, relieved or angry. The chill in her veins suggested that anger might win. “I've an entire family, alive and aware of me and I've never met them? Never heard a word?” She knew it was stupid to be upset, but it was easier than facing the other new facts bombarding her mind.

“If you had stayed with her you would probably be dead by now.” An'thor’s words were not tinged with bitterness, as usual, but sorrow. “She wasn't certain what you were, but she knew what you could be, and that was enough. We've done our best to keep you safe, despite not being sure that you even existed sometimes.” He sat back. “That brings me to an important choice you must make. Ask Athrolan for alliance. Declare yourself. This war will happen either way and you need all the strength you can find.” His gaze flicked to Arman. “I'll let you talk this over without me.” He rose and poured both of them a cup of tea before ducking from the room.

“Arman, I don't know what to think.”