Waterborne Exile (26 page)

“But your highness…” Durstan fell silent when the two guards took him by the arms. The soldier stared at Vasic with that same vacant disinterest. Two more guards closed on him, taking hold of his arms as they had Durstan, but the soldier erupted into motion. He sprang from between the two men, bashing their heads together and seizing one of their spears, clubbing its owner about the head with the shaft, before circling around the fallen man to face his comrade, flourishing the spear about his head. Onlookers fell back in haste, while the two guards holding Durstan released him and spun about, readying their own spears. Neither seemed keen to engage, however, once the soldier poleaxed the already dazed guard with the butt end of the spear.

“Stand fast.” Vasic raised a hand. To his surprise the soldier obeyed the order, assuming a military stance with the spear held upright at his side. “Prelate, tell your man to lay down his weapon.”

Durstan nodded to the soldier. “Do as the king commands, Pius.”

There was an infinitesimal pause, then the soldier stooped, setting down the spear on the floor. He straightened up and stood to attention as calmly as if nothing had happened. The prelate’s claims no longer looked so far-fetched.

“I must travel on more pressing business, prelate, but I shall consider how to put your claims to a true test upon my return. You will await my convenience here.”

The air was colder as Alwenna and Erin climbed into the foothills proper. They had found a faint track and, for want of any more specific instruction, they followed it as it wound its way between hills and over passes. The direction felt right, at least. And someone must have made the path, after all. If it was not those Alwenna sought, then it might be someone who could point her to where she might find them.

Boulders were strewn about the landscape; large and small, they were plentiful as trees in a forest. As they approached one such cluster of boulders their horse raised its head sharply, ears pricked.

“Halt right there!”

The man’s voice startled Alwenna. She stopped the horse and looked all around, but could see no one. He must be hidden behind one of the many boulders. The horse sidled uneasily.

“I said halt.” A man stepped out into the path ahead of them, sword in hand, and walked up to take hold of the horse’s bridle. He glared up at them suspiciously. He had a weather-beaten face with high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. His clothing might once have been black but had long since faded to an uneven grey.

“You’d better step down from that saddle, nice and easy, and tell me what you’re doing here.”

She’d heard his voice somewhere before. But where? Alwenna spread her hands wide before setting one over her belly. “Forgive me, but that’s a little difficult at present. I’m looking for friends of Jenna the freemerchant.”

If he recognised Jenna’s name, his face gave nothing away. “Step down anyway. Then we’ll talk.”

“Very well.”

Erin slithered down from behind Alwenna and supported her as she dismounted in turn.

Alwenna’s legs were tired and unresponsive from the days spent on the road. Now she was down on the ground she had to look up at the stranger. He was perhaps a head taller than her, with pale grey eyes in his deeply lined face. “Now move over there.” He gestured to the centre of the path with his sword hand.

Alwenna obeyed, watching him warily. “I’m no threat to you. I’ve only–”

“Save it for later. Take those knives from your belts and drop them on the ground. Slowly.”

This man seemed to be a stranger to laughter of any kind. Alwenna dropped her knife in the dust a foot or so in front of her feet and Erin followed suit.

“Now step back three paces.”

Again they obeyed.

Keeping an eye on the women he stooped and picked up their knives, tucking them in his own belt. He straightened up and studied them, calculating. “You’re no freemerchants.”

“No. But we’ve been their guests these past weeks.”

“Tired of their hospitality, did you?”

“I need to speak to some people Jenna told me about. She said I’d find them in these mountains. Dare I hope you’re one of these people?”

Was that a ghost of a smile that crossed his face? “I can’t think why you’d want to.”

No, nor can I, Alwenna thought. She kept her peace.

He shrugged. “Since you’ve come this far, you’d best bring that horse and follow me. You won’t be able to ride it down the track I’ll be taking you. And if it slips, best to just let it go.”

If it slips? What did that mean?

He sheathed his sword and turned his back on the two women, setting off along the faint path they’d been following. He put his fingers to his lips and gave out a sharp whistle, gesturing to someone concealed on the other side of the path.

So the path led to something worth guarding. Alwenna knew she ought to find that reassuring. As it was, she’d just recalled whose grey eyes the man reminded her of: Tresilian’s pale priestess. Was it likely the girl should have kin out here in the mountains? Alwenna’s skin prickled with unease. She hoped not.

The stranger paused beside a boulder that reached his shoulder height. “Take care here. The path twists sharply down to the right.”

Alwenna followed him, but had to stop and set one hand on the boulder to gather herself. The path had brought them to the edge of a steep escarpment. The ground dropped away abruptly below her feet, a near-vertical cliff face rising from a steep slope, covered with loose stone. Now his comment about the horse made sense.

She navigated the step with caution. Her bulging stomach was enough to disturb her natural balance and she found the descent tiring. Erin followed on with the horse, accompanied by much slithering and scattering of loose stones as it disturbed the ground.

Alwenna’s legs were weak and trembling from the effort by the time they reached easier ground below. Basking in the sunshine at Scarrow’s Deep had not been the best preparation for this journey. A small stream wound its way across the flat valley floor which was littered, like this whole area, with an assortment of boulders. Across the far side of the valley was an equally steep shelving slope, bare rock in places, in others a jumble of loose stone and soil, cut through by runnels carved out by rainwater.

Alwenna paused and looked back. She could see the line of the path they’d descended sloping down the valley wall. From this angle it appeared almost civilised. It also appeared to be the only such approach to the valley floor. No one could enter the valley without being seen by anyone watching from below. Yet they clearly felt the need to place guards at the top. It occurred to her any intruders might be more readily dealt with from the top of that steep slope. A pragmatic solution…

“We still have some way to go.” The stranger was waiting some yards ahead. “If you want to ride the horse again from here you may.”

How many unwanted visitors had he pushed from that escarpment over the years?

“One or two. You are right, friend of Jenna. It is easier that way.” He turned and walked on.

Alwenna and Erin exchanged looks.

“What does he mean, my lady?”

“I was thinking they must push anyone who was unwelcome off the top of that cliff.”

“That means we are welcome? Goddess, I’d never have thought it. Will you ride the horse again, my lady?”

Alwenna hesitated before nodding. She didn’t want to show weakness, but the climb down the steep path had exhausted her more than she’d imagined possible. Erin legged her up into the saddle, but elected to walk alongside.

“What are these people, my lady?”

How to tell the girl she had no real idea; that she’d brought her all this way on some vague sense she needed to learn what these people knew?

“Jenna spoke of them once. They were freemerchants, but broke with them years ago.”

“So that’s why they know what we think without our having to speak it?”

“This man certainly seems to.”

“I fear no good can come of this, my lady.”

Landbound thinking… Alwenna caught the thought up short. Was she falling into freemerchant ways despite everything? “I fear you are right, Erin. But to deal with what lies ahead the thing I need most is not goodness.”

“The king is well pleased with what I can offer him.” Durstan nodded towards the high table where Vasic sat with his favoured courtiers. The prelate selected another piece of meat from the platter before them, gnawing every last scrap off the bone. The priestess could have sworn he’d put visible weight on since they’d arrived at Highkell.

The priestess continued to pick at the food on her plate. She’d never known such bounty before, but her appetite had all but deserted her. The food repelled her, but she needed to eat. She could remember Tresilian’s queen’s expression when she’d sat at table at the summer palace, and began to understand perhaps what she’d been experiencing then.

It was odd to know a moment of empathy for the woman she’d sworn deadly enmity against. But what was a little more oddness in her life? She’d turned her world upside-down when she’d deceived the prelate – and, though she’d paid the price with scars across her back, she feared the Goddess was still displeased with her. If she’d really put an end to the child, she could understand it. But the child was safe. Had she been unwise to throw herself headlong into this adventure? She was free of the precinct, was she not? All she had to do now was secure that freedom, take her destiny in her own two hands and shape it for herself. Maybe she didn’t even need the halfwit – he had no influence in this world, after all.

Sat further down the table he was watching her now, that vacant expression on his face. She frowned at him. After a moment he turned away, his expression never changing. Sometimes his blank scrutiny made her feel uneasy. And that was nonsense – she had done nothing to him. Nothing but help him recover his sense of self before the order eradicated it completely. How was it possible to feel that blank stare judged her?

She had eaten her fill, and pushed the plate away. Beside her, Durstan continued to gorge. He sickened her. She glanced up to the top table and found the king was watching her. Now there was a man with influence. How did one secure the interest of a monarch when surrounded by dozens of people going about the noisy business of eating and drinking? She held the eye contact for a moment, before lowering her eyes demurely.

She stood up and left the table, taking her time about it, with a quick glance to see if he was still watching her, then made her way down the side of the hall to the main door. Through there were the garderobes, as well as other sundry chambers. And far fewer people.

It was a relief to be free of the noisy, chewing crowd. In truth she cared little if the king chose to follow her or not. She had been so determined at the summer palace that she would go to Highkell with the others. And now she was here, all the fight seemed to have slipped away from her. She crossed some room or other to gaze out of the window. The ground dropped away beneath the sill, almost dizzyingly. By the moonlight she could see across the gorge. Trees grew along the ridge, above an ugly scar where the ground had slipped away. That was where, she had been told, the road to the south should be. Now it was little more than a goat trod, until the damage was repaired. She had also been told the king would soon be travelling south to meet his new bride and bring her back to her new home at Highkell. That didn’t bode well for Durstan’s plans.

She shrugged. Whatever happened, she could not deny the outlook was beautiful, if not entirely comfortable. There were no such dizzying heights where she had been raised.

Footsteps disturbed the stillness of the room behind her. She turned, taking care to move gracefully. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was indeed Vasic. She knew what Durstan required of her, and it suited her own purposes: if anyone had the power to find the missing queen, it was this man.

The king carried his wine glass, she noticed. She curtseyed low, grateful for the time she’d spent practising.

“Highness.” Just the right amount of humility and breathlessness.

“You’re Durstan’s little priestess.” He sipped thoughtfully at his wine as he regarded her.

He was not ill-favoured. She could see a family resemblance to Tresilian, although Vasic’s features were somewhat sharper.

“I am a priestess of the Goddess. I do not serve Durstan. I shall not serve any man, unless it be the will of the Goddess.”

“Is that so?” His mouth twisted in distaste. Evidently he disliked her answer.

“That is so, your highness.” She smoothed her skirts, not too hastily, almost too slowly. “But the Goddess has brought you to me tonight, and it shall be my pleasure to serve you.” She glanced up at him, demurely. “If it would please you, your highness?”

He swallowed down the last of his wine and set the glass on a side table.

“It would please me.”

A week he’d been kicking his heels here at Highkell. A whole week. A week of mutton stew, served at the lowest table in the king’s hall. Marten took another piece of dry bread and mopped the last of the stew from his bowl. How much longer would he have to wait? Not that he wasn’t glad of the steady supply of food, however greasy…

He had the uncomfortable sense someone was watching him. It took a moment to find the cold grey eyes considering him from close to the top of the table. Tresilian’s priestess. Had she recognised Marten? One of her companions spoke to her and she turned her attention to him with a pained expression. This man wore the robes of the priesthood, but embellished in such a way that suggested he was of some importance. Marten could not recollect seeing his face before. But when the man sat back, Marten saw a face he recognised immediately.

Weaver. Alive and kicking, by all appearances. Marten watched covertly for several minutes. No, not kicking, for the soldier appeared to be sunk into a depression of some kind, the same morose mood he’d had those last few days at the summer palace, perhaps. The priest leaned forward again and Marten could see no more. But a few minutes later Vasic rose from the top table, and gestured to the group. The grey-eyed priestess stood immediately and made her way over to the door where Vasic waited, pausing only to usher her through, setting one hand on the small of her back. As if they had been waiting only for that, the priest and Weaver stood up and left the table. The priest moved stiffly down the room, his gait uneven. Perhaps Marten’s original estimate of his age had been mistaken. Weaver followed behind the older man, looking neither to right nor to left, but his eyes fixed straight ahead. The soldier had ever been watchful in company. Had he received some injury during that last fight? Marten could not credit he’d have turned coat readily. Nor could he credit the order would keep one of the Lady Alwenna’s staunchest supporters among their own. Not unless they had been able to make sure of him in some way… This was a mystery in need of solving. He was about to rise from the table and follow them, when a page boy ran up to him.