The Summoner (45 page)

“Someone must be disappointed.” Kiara looked at him as if trying to discern whether his comment was sincere. “Angry, yes,” she sighed. “Disappointed—not really.” She adjusted the gyregon in its makeshift sling. “He’s got quite a few things in common with that… thing… you 379

just killed, to tell the truth,” she said distastefully. “Then I hope the Journey is successful.” She looked at him as if taking his measure. “What you did back there—you are a mage?”

After the display at the crossroads, it would be futile to protest, Tris thought. “Mage student might be more accurate,” he said uncomfortably. He stopped and rose in his stirrups to take his bearings.

“Right now, I’d like to know whether this road meets up again with the road on the other side of the village,” he said. There was a waxing moon, which saved the need for a torch, but the rolling hills made it difficult to gauge the lay of the land. “I have no desire to ride back through the village.”

“I have a map,” Kiara offered. She dug the map from her pack, grimacing with the movement.

Tris guessed that the wound was deeper than she let on.

When Kiara unfolded the map, Tris called a small ball of cold handfire. That Kiara did not seem afraid of his power impressed him. That she was able to hold her own against one of the beasts, however briefly, intrigued him more. He chanced another glance at her. From the way she sat her horse and held herself—as well as the stoic way she bore her wound—he guessed that she was military‐trained. Her brown eyes were intelligent, and her manner spoke of education and means. She wore no ornamentation, and her cloak and tunic were those of a man. In the dim glow of the handfire, it was her face that caught his attention. How is it that a beautiful woman— trained at war or not—rides alone into the wilderness to escape an unwanted suitor?

“Look,” Kiara said, pointing at a spot on the map. “If that’s where we are, then the roads should meet not far from here.”

Tris nodded. “Let’s go. The sooner we find my friends, the safer we’ll be.”

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Kiara lapsed into silence as they rode. She felt Greyfoot’s absence keenly, but lacked the words or the will to share the loss with her riding companion, who might think her mad for mourning a fox. She glanced at him as they rode. Shoulder‐length, white‐blond hair was caught back in a queue. His manner and his speech suggested status that his calloused hands contradicted. What is a mage doing riding around the countryside, she wondered? Although grateful for his intervention, the sudden rescue made her suspicious. Lady and Childe! I could be getting myself into more trouble, but I don’t think I’ll live long riding alone!

Jae shifted in his sling. She stroked his scales, and the unexpected kindness Tris showed made her look at him again. Though close to her own age, she guessed, he looked weary, as if he had been on the road for quite some time. His cloak was of common cloth, and his breeches of homespun fabric. But his blue eyes had a haunted look to them, and she wondered from what, besides the beasts, he might be running. Something about his face, his high cheekbones and his profile, looked familiar.

She had not traveled long before she learned that out here, everyone was running from something. There’s more he’s not saying, she thought. She sensed no threat from him, something rare given the other soldiers she met on the road. Her obvious skill with a sword and her warhorse did not seem to bother him. I wonder where his party is going, she mused. Perhaps they’ll turn off before I head north to Westmarch. I’d hate to explain why I’m traveling to a library that doesn’t exist any more!

They rode barely half a candlemark before a man dressed in riding leathers stepped out from the bushes. Kiara’s hand fell to her sword, but Tris reined in his mount.

“You waited for me?” Tris called in recognition. The swordsman, a lean, fit man with dark brown hair and a hunter’s tan, nodded.

“Took you long enough. I was just about to ride back to find you,” the man replied, in a tone both relieved and annoyed.

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“I ran into another one of those friendly little beasts,” Tris replied sarcastically. “And drove him off before he could eat a fellow traveler,” he added, indicating Kiara.

Just then, Jae popped his head out of the makeshift sling and flicked his tongue. The swordsman’s expression moved from annoyance to concern to resignation. “Picking up strays?”

he asked with an edge, directing the comment to Tris. “She took a bad gash and needs a healer.

So does her gyregon.”

The swordsman held his ground for a moment, then shook his head and turned aside. “Hey, it’s your party,” he said, turning his back and starting up the road. “The more the merrier.”

The obvious play of wills between the two men left Kiara wondering even more about her new companion. The swordsman was clearly used to being in charge, and seemed to consider himself master of the excursion. But there was an air of command to Tris that won out over the head-strong swordsman. They had not gone far before the swordsman signaled them to dismount, and Kiara slid down from Wraith as best she could without squashing the gyregon, who protested ill‐humouredly. Tris took the reins from her and led Wraith over to a small stand of trees, where he tethered the horse with the other mounts. That Tris did not insult her by trying to help her down from her horse made yet another positive impression.

“Careful how you split up that food. There’s another mouth to feed,” the swordsman called as they approached the camp.

“Glad to see you back in one piece,” called a tall, black‐haired man who rose from near the fire.

He was strikingly handsome, with blue‐black hair framing his face. When he moved, it was with a dancer’s grace more than the stride of a fighter.

“So am I,” Tris replied as he tethered his horse. Beyond them, a thin, brunette woman hunched next to a fire, and a young girl assiduously cut a loaf of bread with a knife.

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“She’s been hurt,” Tris said as they drew closer. “I told her we had a healer with us.”

At that, the woman looked up and froze as her eyes met Kiara’s. Kiara felt breath leave her as if she’d been poleaxed, as she met those eyes in startled recognition.

She wasn’t even sure she had choked out Carina’s name before the dark‐haired healer was in her arms, both of them talking and crying at once.

“Did you get this kind of greeting too?” the swordsman asked dryly as the others looked on in amazement.

Kiara dragged her sleeve across her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, finding her voice. “It’s just, oh Goddess! We’re cousins, and Carina’s been on the road for so long—”

The black‐haired man stepped toward them. “Then you must be Kiara Sharsequm.”

“How—”

“It’s all right, Kiara,” Carina said, collecting herself with a deep breath and wiping the tears from her eyes. “They’re friends. Come on. I’ll take a look at that shoulder and at Jae. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Carina introduced Carroway, Vahanian and Berry, then went to retrieve her healer’s bag from the satchels on her horse while Berry pressed a hunk of bread and chunks of meat and cheese into Kiara’s hands. Jae’s head thrust out of the sling, surprising the girl, who laughed and then reached for the gyregon. Kiara expected a hiss of annoyance, but to her surprise, the gyregon accepted the girl’s gentle touch. Kiara carefully removed the sling, leaving the gyregon wrapped 383

in the cloth bandage and handed him to Berry, who put a pot of water on the fire and then settled down cross‐legged where she could hear Kiara’s story and feed niblets of cheese to the gyregon.

When the healer finished with her shoulder, Kiara found that it no longer throbbed. Jae hissed in recognition as Carina took him gently from Berry, and let the little gyregon flick his tongue along her hand in acknowledgment. After a short while, the cut along Jae’s belly looked nearly healed.

Between healings, Carina mixed a tea which she presented to Tris, who looked as if he were in pain. He accepted the tea gratefully.

Night had fallen by the time Carina had recounted their escape from the slavers, and the detail she provided about Tris’s role in obtaining their freedom confirmed that the young mage had considerably more power than he let on. She explained how circumstances had changed their course, directing them all to the Library at Westmarch instead of Dhasson. Carina even managed to tell of Cam’s disappearance with a fair amount of control, although Kiara was unashamed of the tears it brought to her own eyes. Of the others’ stories, Carina offered little. While she talked, Tris and Carroway made rush torches and arrows to replace the ones they had used and Vahanian refilled the bucket with pitch, ready for another encounter.

“I hate to break up the story,” Vahanian said from where he leaned against the trunk of a tree,

“but if we’re riding out tomorrow, do we have some idea of where this Library of yours is?” He stretched up and back to flick off a loose piece of bark before looking at the group once more, glancing from Tris to Carina and back again.

“Would it help if I gave you my map?” Kiara offered. Briefly, she explained her quest, and the Oracle’s directive that she seek out the fabled library.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Vahanian replied, accepting the old map.

“If this relic is true,” he said after a moment’s examination, “then we’re within a day’s ride. Of course, that assumes the Library is still there. Spook here,” he added with a nod in Tris’s direc-384

tion, “can tell you I’m more of a seeing‐is‐believing kind of guy.”

“Maybe we should get some sleep,” Tris interjected. “We’ll have our chance tomorrow to see if the Library is real or not.”

Kiara nodded, suddenly aware of just how exhausted she was.

“I’ll help you find a spot for your bedroll,” Carina offered. “We stay pretty close together.” She managed a tired smile. “We decided that we’d give up a little privacy to stay out of the slavers’

hands.”

“Good idea,” Kiara agreed. She looked from Tris to Vahanian to Carroway. “I expect to take my turn on watch,” she said.

“First night’s free,” Carroway smiled. “Tomorrow, you can take your turn, and mine too if you’d like,” he said. Kiara tended to Wraith then carried her blankets to where Carina cleared a space for her. After so long alone on the trail, she was surprised at how great a comfort it was to fall asleep with the sounds of other people nearby.

Morning came all too quickly. Carroway warmed gruel over the small fire, which they washed down with water from a spring beyond the hill. The small group had been together long enough to have a routine for getting on the road, Kiara noted, and tired as they were, they packed up the camp in record time.

Kiara felt a tingle of excitement as they took to the road. Finding the Library had become a quest in itself, and she sensed the same anticipation among the others. For a while, Kiara rode with Carina, enjoying the familiar companionship. Jae hopped from her shoulder to Berry’s, and let 385

the girl stroke his scales as he made contented chirps.

Mid‐morning, Kiara found herself riding alongside Carroway, and enjoyed his songs and tales. By the good‐natured ribbing, she gathered that his stories were familiar to the others, and Carroway explained that he often earned their night’s keep by entertaining in taverns.

Most interesting was the time she rode next to Tris. Taciturn at first, he opened up a little when she revealed her own limited abilities with magic, and they talked of magecraft, both experienced or rumored. She was surprised when Carina drew her away privately as they made camp that evening. “What were you and Tris so deep in conversation about?” Carina asked.

Kiara shrugged. “We were trading theories about magic more than anything, comparing the few mages we’ve met, that sort of thing.”

“I’m amazed you’re so open with him,” Carina said. “Considering.”

Kiara frowned. “Considering what?”

Carina looked at her carefully. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Kiara asked. “Would you please stop talking in riddles?”

“I didn’t introduce him because I assumed you’d covered all that,” Carina replied. “Did he tell you who he is, or why he’s out here?”

Kiara shook her head. “It’s never really come up. I’ve gotten used to not asking that sort of thing on the road. I assumed you trusted him.”

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Carina nodded. “I do, completely. But there’s something you need to know. Tris and his friends saw King Bricen’s murder, and the murderer

wants them dead. Tris was told he’d find his answers in Westmarch.”

“There’s something else you’re not saying.”

Carina met her eyes. “Kiara, he’s Martris Drayke. Of Margolan. Jared Drayke’s younger brother.”

Kiara exhaled sharply and glanced back at Tris, who was standing near the fire talking with Vahanian. “Sweet Chenne,” she said.

The resemblance she noted now made sense, Kiara thought, looking at Tris from a distance.

While Jared was as dark as Tris was fair, there were similarities, around the eyes, in the high cheekbones, although Tris had a kinder turn to his lip and his stance revealed none of Jared’s casual arrogance. Her revulsion and anger at what she had seen on the Margolan road swept back over her, equal to her fear of what an arranged marriage to such a king would mean, for her people and for herself. Could two brothers be so truly different? Yet, she genuinely liked Tris and found herself more comfortable with him than with most men. He showed no need to best her at sword skills or patronize her. He did not ask her rank at all, nor allude to any royal blood of his own.

“He means to find a way to unseat Jared,” Carina continued. “King Harrol of Dhasson may be prepared to stake a fortune behind him to do it.” Her dark eyes were worried. “There’s going to be war, Kiara, and we’re smack in the middle of it.”

Maybe more so than you think, my cousin, Kiara thought, looking again at Tris. Best to keep her own counsel for a while, and as she did, to put some distance between herself and Tris, at least 387

for now.

“Thanks for the warning,” she said in her best off‐hand voice. “While they’re rooting around for supper, why don’t you fill me in on the others? Starting with him,” she said, with a nod toward Vahanian.