Inheritance

Chapter 23

Until they reached the base of the wooded crest, both Lynan and Gudon rode on the horse, but Lynan dismounted as the slope increased to reduce the animal’s load and to guide it over jutting roots. Gudon hung on as best he could, not once complaining about his badly wounded leg. About midday, they came across a small stream, and Lynan called a halt. He eased Gudon off the saddle and made him comfortable before applying more of the Chett’s haethu.

“I should bandage it,” Lynan told him.

Gudon shook his head. “It has stopped bleeding. Truth, air is the best thing for it.”

“It will go bad.”

Gudon held up the bottle of haethu. “Not with this on it, little master.” He offered the bottle to Lynan. “Put some on your wound. It will heal more quickly.”

Lynan dabbed some on experimentally. The wound and the tips of his fingers became numb almost instantly. He handed the bottle back with thanks.

“Will you be all right by yourself? I have to find us something to eat.”

“We should have taken some of the dead jaizru with us. They make a good stew.”

Lynan’s face wrinkled in disgust. “After what happened this morning, I could never eat one.”

“But they were prepared to eat you; it is only just to eat them in turn.”

Lynan did not have to search far for food. He found berries and nuts and a colony of mushrooms, and on his way back discovered the white flowers of honey tubes. The pair ate quickly, then drank their fill from the stream.

“This crest is near the middle of the Ufero Mountains,” Gudon told Lynan. “I came east this way many, many years ago. If we continue northwest, we will stay under cover and find plenty of streams and food until we get to the other side of the range.”

“And then what?”

“From there, you must decide what to do next. I must go to the Oceans of Grass. It is time for me to go back to my people. But you can head north to Haxus or back south, if you wish.”

“I was taken from friends. They will be looking for me.”

“Where were you headed?”

“The Oceans of Grass.”

Gudon looked surprised. “It is rare for people from the south to go there.”

“We had our reasons,” Lynan said darkly.

“I do not doubt it.” Gudon slapped Lynan’s shoulder. “Then we must go on together. Your friends will come and look for you there.”

“Not if they think I’m dead.”

“If they truly are your friends, they will know you are still alive, little master.”

“Please, Gudon, stop calling me that. I am not your master.”

Before Lynan could react, Gudon reached out and put his hand under Lynan’s shirt and brought out the Key of Union. “Forgive me, but you are wrong.”

Lynan grabbed it back and hid it again. “How did you know… ?”

“When the beneficent master brought you aboard my barge, the Key was hanging loose from your neck. I recognized it, of course. What Chett wouldn’t? It is the symbol of your family’s rule over us. I must have looked too hard, for Prado struck me down.”

Lynan retreated from Gudon. “What will you do about it?” he asked suspiciously.

“What I am doing now. Helping you get to safety.”

Lynan swallowed. “I’m sorry. I have learned to trust very few.”

“Then if you learn to trust me, I will count it as an honor… your Majesty.”

Lynan shook his head. “No. I am not king. My sister, Areava, rules in Kendra.”

“So we on the river had heard,” Gudon said carefully. “I will not apologize for calling you what I did, but best I take you to my people. There are those there who will grant you refuge, and perhaps more.”

“More?” Lynan asked, his heart skipping a beat.

“I cannot say. You must go and see for yourself.”

They set off again as soon as the horse had rested. The ground became rockier and their going slower. The trees closed in around them and the air became heavy and moist.

After a while, Lynan said: “How long did you pilot a barge?”

“Oh, many years. My youth was spent on the river.”

“But you did not set out to be a pilot?”

“No. I did not know how my journey from the Oceans of Grass would end. Destiny made my feet follow the path to the Barda.”

“Destiny and instruction,” Lynan said quietly.

“Now what can the little master mean by that?”

“As a pilot, you have reason to travel between the capitals of Hume and Chandra, you listen to gossip and tales from your passengers, you see what cargo is being carried, including the movement of armies, and you have an excuse to talk to travelers.”

Gudon smiled easily. “Destiny takes many shapes and forms. In my case, it was not a king but a princess, although she is a queen now. And it is my turn to ask you your question: what will you do about it?”

“What I am doing now,” Lynan replied without trying to hide the irony. “Helping you get to safety.”

The pilot saw the deserted barge and swore loudly. Kumul stood up to see what the problem was.

“Poor Gudon!” the pilot wailed. “He did not deserve such a fate!”

By now Ager and Jenrosa were standing as well. It did not take them long to see what the pilot was keening about.

“Is that… ?” Jenrosa started, but could not finish the question. She did not want to know the answer.

“Take us closer!” Kumul told the pilot.

“I do not dare! See the spear trees, and how some of their branches end below the water? They are holding jaizru nests! If we get too close, they may attack us as well!”

“Take us closer, damn you!” Kumul ordered, and went astern to make sure she obeyed his order.

The pilot started her wailing again but gently eased her vessel closer to the bank. Ager climbed the bow gunwale and peered into the abandoned barge. “It’s a fucking mess,” he said. “I see at least two dead horses.”

“Any bodies?” Jenrosa asked.

“It’s hard to tell. The deck is covered in blood and dead eels. Maybe one… no, two! Get us closer!”

The pilot shook, but under Kumul’s glowering stare pushed harder on the rudder. Ager asked Jenrosa to hold on to his coat as he leaned even farther over the water. “One is too tall to be Lynan. The other… I just can’t tell. There is not enough left of the face and too much blood to tell by the clothing.” Jenrosa pulled him back in and the two of them joined Kumul astern.

“We must get off,” Kumul said.

Just then the water boiled to the starboard and several shapes, black and red with teeth like shears, flew out of the river. The landed just inside the barge and flopped uselessly on the deck, all the while trying to bite whatever was in reach. The three companions jumped back. The pilot kicked the rudder and pulled on the sheets. The barge lurched and then slid into the middle of the river.

“I am not stopping here, even if you cut me with your sword,” she told Kumul, her eyes wide in fear.

“She is right,” Ager said, his voice taut. “The river is too shallow here for the barge to get close enough to the bank. We would have to wade through the water, and probably all be dead before our feet touched dry land.”

“But what of Lynan?” Kumul cried. “What if he is still alive? He could be on the bank somewhere, needing our help…”

“If Lynan survived the river, he is either dead from loss of blood or long gone from here, in which case we will have to find his trail and follow it.”

“Where is the closest point we can disembark?” Jenrosa asked the pilot.

“About three leagues from here if you want to take your horses with you.”

“But which side of the river?” Kumul asked.

“I do not think he would have survived if he tried to swim for the eastern bank,” Ager answered. “The eels would have had more than enough time to finish him off. If he is alive, he is somewhere to the west of the Barda.”

“Then that is where we go,” Kumul said.

The barge seemed to take hours to reach the disembarkation point, but the sun had still not reached midday when the pilot pulled over and dropped anchor. The planks were not quite long enough to reach land, and the horses had to be pulled and pushed up the slippery bank. They left one of the horses with the pilot as payment.

“I did not take you to Daavis as agreed,” the pilot said, and gave them two days’ worth of food to make up the difference. “Journey well. I hope you find your friend.”

Less than an hour later they reached the clump of spear trees and the deserted barge with its cargo, already starting to stink under the hot sun. They quickly found the prints of two humans and a horse.

“I think these are Lynan’s,” Ager said. “They are too small for Prado or one of his men.”

“These ones are long, but the stride is short and there is much blood,” Kumul said.

“It could be the pilot,” Jenrosa suggested.

“Or not,” Ager answered grimly.

Kumul followed the second set of prints to a thicket of thorn bushes. “The tracks meet here, then Lynan’s set off west…” He stopped and stooped to the ground “… and come back again… and then set off once more, but the impression is much deeper. He is carrying something heavy.”

“The other survivor,” Ager said, joining Kumul. “Then Jenrosa is probably right. It must be the pilot. He would not bother to carry Prado or one of his men.”

“But Prado had two men with him,” Jenrosa pointed out. “Where is the last of them?”

Ager shrugged. “Dead in the river, most likely; probably nothing more than a skeleton now.”

With hope rekindled in their hearts, they followed the tracks west for half a league on foot before rediscovering the horse’s trail.

“They are riding west,” Ager said, and pointed to the crest in the distance. “They are heading for the woods.”

“Smart boy, that Lynan,” Kumul said under his breath. “They can’t be more than four hours ahead of us.”

“They will pull ahead, even though their horse is carrying both of them,” Ager said. “We have to ride slowly to keep to their trail.”

It was mid-afternoon before Lynan reached the top of the crest. It had been hard work, climbing and leading the horse. Gudon had slipped into a kind of sleep, stirring only occasionally to pat the horse and smile at Lynan before nodding off again. Now that they were clear of most of the trees the sun woke him fully, and he tried to slip off the horse.

“What are you doing?” Lynan cried, and tried to stop him.

“No, no, young master! I need to stand. I haven’t been on a horse for many years, and my thighs and back feel like they have been stretched forever out of shape.” He balanced himself on his good leg and held onto the saddle, then slowly stretched his muscles.

A cool wind blew around them. From their vantage point Lynan could see that the crest fell more sharply on its western side—leveling out in a broad dry plain with no trees and no sign of life—but extended north until it joined the saddle of a much larger rise. Beyond that he could see the peaks of several mountains, some of them high enough to shine with snow. He looked behind him and saw more mountains, though none as high as those in the north.

“That is the Lesser Desert,” Gudon told him, pointing to the plain. “It follows the Ufero Mountains along almost its entire length. South of here is the source of the Gelt River, which flows into Kestrel Bay.”

Lynan dimly remembered that the Gelt River had been the original destination for him and his companions on leaving Kendra. How much easier their journey would have been if they had not been forced onto the rocks by that warship, he thought. They could have sailed halfway up the Gelt, then strolled the rest of its length to these mountains. No great bears or vampires or Jes Prados or jaizru.

“North of here there is a pass through the mountains, called the Algonka,” continued Gudon. “It is part of a well-used caravan route, and will take us to the start of the Oceans of Grass. There is a water hole at the end of the caravan route called by us the Strangers’ Sooq.”

“We will find refuge at this sooq?”

Gudon shrugged.

“How far away is this pass?”

“Two days’ journey at least. We must stay this side of the mountains to find water, and the way is not always this easy.”

Lynan wiped the sweat from his brow. “Wonderful,” he muttered.

Gudon used his arms to mount by himself and grimaced when his injured knee bumped into the saddle. “Truth, it could be worse,” Gudon said between his teeth.

“How worse?”

The Chert grinned at Lynan. “It could be me walking instead of you.”

It was late at night, and Rendle, tired and fed up from hours arguing with Charion’s quartermaster about supplies for his company, was not in a good mood when Eder opened the flap to his tent and just walked in.

“This had better be good.”

“You have a visitor,” Eder said shortly and moved aside. At first Rendle did not recognize the lumpen shape that entered, even when Eder lit another candle.

“Who…” But then something about the mouth and crooked nose sparked a memory. “Prado?”

“The same,” Jes Prado answered, and without invitation sat himself down on Rendle’s bunk. He was cradling his arm, and his clothes were bloody and torn.

Rendle poured wine into a mug and passed it to Prado. “What happened to you? I wasn’t expecting you for another day, at least. Did you find the prize?”

Prado swallowed the wine in two gulps and held out the mug for more. Rendle obliged.

“We found the prince, all right,” Prado said, his voice rough with exhaustion, “and got him as far as the Barda River. Then we lost him.”

Rendle’s face went as hard as stone, but his voice remained level. “Lost him?”

Prado drunk some more wine, then started retching. Rendle took the mug away from him until he had finished, then handed it back. Prado met his gaze, but turned away when he saw the look in Rendle’s eyes.

“But I know where he’s going,” he said quickly. “We were chased by Kumul and two companions—”

“The crookback and the girl?”

“Aye. We made it to the river just in time and took a barge. The pilot played along for a while, then drove the barge into a clump of jaizru nests.”

Eder blanched; Rendle did not even blink. “And then?”

“The eels killed my two best men and two of my horses. I saw Lynan pushed over the side by the pilot, then the pilot mounted one of the horses and forced it into the river. I saw them being attacked as they made for the bank. More jaizru were flying at the barge. I jumped over the other side, thinking the eels would be too busy with the pilot and the horse. I was mostly right.” He held up his arm to show the wounds he had received. “I have more on my back and neck.”

“And then?” Rendle prodded without a trace of sympathy.

“I reached the bank and collapsed. I don’t know how long I was out for. When I came to, I saw Lynan carrying the pilot away from the river, heading west.”

“What about the horse?”

“I didn’t see its carcass in the river. I think it must have gotten away.”

“And where do you think Lynan is going?”

“The pilot was a Chett,” Prado said. “I think they’ll head for the Oceans of Grass. Where else can the prince go?”

“How did you reach Daavis?”

“I caught another barge upriver. I had to give the pilot the last of my coins.” He finished the wine, but did not dare hold out the mug again.

Rendle and Eder exchanged glances. Eder nodded and left the tent. “Do you think you can ride?” Rendle asked.

“Give me a night’s rest and I’ll—”

“Now,” Rendle said. “We must ride tonight if we’re to make the Algonka Pass in time to intercept the prince. If you are right about Lynan heading for the Oceans of Grass, that is the only way through.”

“How many men will you take?”

“I will take my company, Prado. I’m not going anywhere near the Chetts without plenty of swords to back me up.”

Eder returned. “I’ve sent out the marshals. The company will leave Daavis in small groups and meet four leagues north of the city.”

“Get our tents down,” Rendle ordered. “We won’t be coming back here.” He turned to Prado. “And you come with us. If we capture Lynan, I may forgive you for what you have done. If not…” He poured more wine into Prado’s mug. “… I may sell you to the Chetts.”

Chapter 24

The next morning Gudon’s knee seemed no better to Lynan, but the pilot insisted the pain was less. Lynan applied more haethu to both their wounds. They ate a handful of berries they had found nearby and then they set off once more, traversing steep slopes made slippery with loose stones. Lynan discovered the hardest part was not climbing but descending; he had to use all his strength to keep his footing and at the same time concentrate on leading the horse along the firmest ground. The muscles and joints in his legs felt as if they had been so overused he would never walk normally again; and as far as he could see, for all his efforts they were making barely any progress at all. The terrain seemed the same no matter which way he looked. But Gudon, with gentle humor and confidence, continued to give directions and encouragement.

The sky was covered in high clouds which made Lynan feel dreary, and though it made the air cooler, it also made it more humid. They stopped regularly to let both Lynan and the horse rest, and near midday they were lucky to find a gully with trees for extra shade and a brook with water so cold and fresh it helped invigorate them. Gudon actually tried standing without support and managed to walk three paces before Lynan had to help him sit down. “You see, little master, I told you it was healing.”

“I wish it had healed enough for you to lead the horse for a while. It does not like these slopes.”

“Any more than you,” Gudon pointed out.

“How far to the Algonka Pass?”

“We will reach it tomorrow, probably in the morning. The descent to the road will be hard, but once there it is easy going all the way to the Strangers’ Sooq.”

“And how far from the pass to the sooq?”

“Another day.”

Gudon started suddenly and began digging at the base of a tree Lynan had not seen before. “It is rare to find these on this side of the Ufero Mountains,” the Chett said excitedly. He dug until he had exposed enough of the tree’s roots to get a hand around one of them. He pulled twice and the root lifted into the air, then used a small knife he retrieved from a sheath at the back of his shirt to sever it from the main stock. The outer layer peeled off easily, revealing a milky-white core. Gudon cut it in two and passed one half to Lynan.

“We call these gods’ roots,” Gudon said, and bit off a mouthful. “We use it to spice our food.”

Lynan copied him. The flesh was softer than he thought it would be, but very fibrous. At first, he thought its taste seemed sweet, but then he felt the mild tingling along his tongue and down his throat that told him worse was to come. A moment later, he was spitting it out and gulping water from the brook.

“What do you use it to spice? Leather?” Lynan’s tongue and throat felt as if someone had stuck a burning branch down his gullet.

“The Chett use it widely in cooking. If you leave it in the sun for several days, then pound it into a dust and add water to it, you get haethu. If you add a handful of the dust to a pond or river, the fish come belly-up to the surface and are easy to catch. If you rub the juice into your skin, flies and mosquitoes stay away.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“It is the most wondrous of all plants.”

Lynan felt his stomach rumble. He hoped they would soon have more to eat than the occasional handful of nuts and berries.

The clouds disappeared during the afternoon and the heat became another burden for Lynan to bear. Although the slope became less treacherous, the ground was now made up of large rocks rounded by weathering. The horse became increasingly skittish and difficult to handle. Gudon sang to it, which calmed it for a while but also brought a warm wind blowing up and over the mountains from the Lesser Desert.

“One must be careful with the songs,” Gudon said. “There is always a price to pay for using any magic.”

“Apparently,” Lynan said wryly, blinking furiously to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He could feel the skin on his ears and nose starting to burn. “So why did your princess send you to the Barda?”

Gudon did not seem surprised by the question, and he answered without hesitation. “Because it was the mercenaries working out of Hume and Haxus who were the center of the cursed slave trade, and my people were its main victims. They used the Barda River to take us down to Daavis for selling.”

“But that was many years ago.”

“We have a long memory. We keep watch, we listen, we smell the air. We will not let the Slavers arise again and take us as they did before.”

“But the Chetts are famous warriors. Why didn’t you stop them back then?”

“For many centuries the Chetts lived in small tribes of a hundred or so. It doesn’t matter how brave you are if your enemy is three or four times your strength and you have children and cattle to protect. We finally started coming together to make larger tribes, but there were many arguments among the chiefs about who should be in charge. We fought each other as much as we fought the Slavers. In the end the father of my princess won a great battle against other Chetts near a waterhole called the High Sooq, and we started planning to hit back against the enemy.”

“Your army was big enough to take them on?”

“Not in one battle, little master. The Oceans of Grass are very wide and hold more people than any in the east suspect, but not so many to take on the rich lands of Hume or Haxus. But we could raid and harry. In the end, it never came to be.”

“Why?”

Gudon leaned over and tapped Lynan on the shoulder. “Because of your mother and because of your father. She ordered the destruction of the Slavers, and he carried out her command in a great war.”

Lynan blushed. For as long as he could remember, he had been proud of his father’s record as a general, but it had always been a private thing, without real understanding of what Elynd Chisal’s efforts had meant for other people. Lynan blinked with a sudden thought.

“Prado was one of the mercenary captains who worked for the Slavers?”

“Oh, yes. I have never seen him before, but all Chetts know what he looks like, and know his name. I hope the jaizru fed off him.”

“So do I,” Lynan said, touching the wound on his jaw. “So do I.”

“Here!” Ager cried. “Over here!”

Kumul and Jenrosa stopped their search of the ground and joined Ager at the edge of a gully. Ager held up a white misshapen lump.

“Congratulations,” Kumul said. “What is it and what are you going to do with it?”

Ager threw it to Kumul, who caught it and looked at it. “See the tooth marks?”

“They could be from anything—”

“And how the root is cut neatly at one end?”

Kumul looked more closely. “Yes, you’re right.”

“And here,” Ager said pointing to the ground. “They’re hard to see because the ground is so hard, but hoofprints, for sure.”

Jenrosa breathed a sigh of relief. “So Lynan did come this way.”

“Afraid your magic had failed you?” Kumul teased.

“I told you which direction they were traveling,” she said reproachfully.

“Well, now we can be sure where they’re heading,” Ager said quickly, throwing warning glances at them both. The two of them had become short-tempered since losing the tracks they had been following the previous night.

Kumul nodded. “The Algonka Pass.”

“It makes sense. We had always planned to make for the Oceans of Grass, and from here that’s the only route.”

“At least he’s not trying to cross the Lesser Desert.”

“He might have if the pilot he rescued did not know the way,” Ager said.

“Common sense would tell him not to go through the desert,” Kumul scoffed.

“But not how to move along the Ufero Mountains, and not which direction to travel.”

“How long ago were they here?” Jenrosa asked.

“Five hours ago, maybe more.”

“They are pulling ahead of us, despite the injured pilot.”

“That’s because we had to rediscover their trail. Now we know for sure that they are heading for the Algonka Pass, we can make for it directly. We should get there soon after they do.”

“Why not try and get there before them?” Kumul asked. “We could walk through the night.”

“Along this route? I don’t think so, at least not if you want to keep the horses. It’s bad enough in daylight.”

Kumul did not argue the point. “All right, but let’s get moving. The more ground we make up before the sun goes down, the less anxious I’ll be.”

Prado was beginning to wish the jaizru had eaten him. It took the last vestiges of his strength to remain seated on the horse Rendle had given him. The company rode for four hours until the first signs of dawn lit the sky, then rested for half an hour. Rendle sent a surgeon to look at Prado’s wounds and the man applied some foul-smelling ointment that took away some of the pain but none of his exhaustion. They rode all that morning, always keeping the Barda in sight, heading northwest toward the Ufero Mountains and the Algonka Pass. Farmers threatened them when they rode over their fields, and Eder would disdainfully throw each of them a handful of coins. Merchants leading long lines of pack horses and mules would swear at them as the passing column upset their animals and sent huge clouds of dust sweeping into their faces; these Eder ignored.

Rendle ordered a halt again before midday. They ate cold rations of dried-beef-and-yogurt strips. Rendle sent his fastest outriders ahead with orders to locate Lynan and if possible detain him until the main force caught up, or, if they encountered Chetts in any numbers, to ride back with a warning.

The company rode during the worst heat of the day. Eder asked him to ease up, but Rendle ignored him. When horses fell away—blown, lame, dropping from thirst—their riders were left behind to fend as best they could. When the road bent west and came right alongside the Barda, Rendle let the company rest for another half hour while the horses were watered. And then they were off again, the mountains slowly growing in size, their shadows stretching far across the land.

Prado twisted the reins around his hands and somehow hung on. There seemed to be dust everywhere and he wished he could breathe clear air. The reins started to cut into the skin around his fingers, but the pain was nothing to that he was already suffering.

Rendle kept them going until it was too dark to ride. When he called a halt, men fell off their saddles and horses stood shaking and sweating. Rendle went around, not resting himself until he had spoken at least a single word to all his men, encouraging them, bribing them, warning them. When he had finished, campfires were already alight and the horses watered and brushed down. He then stood alone at the end of the camp, staring out toward the mountains as if by sheer will he could make them come to him. Eder joined him after a while with a mug of hot stew. Rendle gulped it down and handed back the mug.

“One more day,” he told Eder.

“They cannot ride like that again. The horses will drop dead.”

“We’ll take it easier tomorrow.” He turned when Eder sighed in relief. “But not too much easier. We must get there in time to find Prince Lynan.”

“Prado may be wrong. Lynan may be heading somewhere else.”

“Where else can he go? He is outlaw everywhere in the kingdom. Only in the Oceans of Grass can he hope to hide.”

“He could be going straight north, to Haxus,” Eder suggested.

“No. Not Elynd Chisal’s son. Haxus was the main base for the Slavers’ armies during the war.”

Eder spat on the ground. “You’re right. How sweet it will be to turn him over to King Salokan.” The thought made him smile.

Lynan stared at the night sky. The only star he knew was Leurtas, and he could see it just above the southern horizon. That way lies Kendra, he thought. He expected to experience a bout of homesickness, but instead all he felt was detachment. Maybe Kendra was no longer his home. He searched his feelings for anything about his previous life he did miss. Security came into his mind immediately, and the certainty of day-to-day life. He thought some more. What about relations and friends? He would have liked to see Olio again, and Pirem. But Olio was closest to his enemy, his sister Areava, and Pirem was dead. And all his other friends in the whole wide world were somewhere out there, either searching for him or trying to find a place to hide, or even dead. He would have given anything then to hear Kumul bark at him, or Ager suggest a bout with short swords, or be the victim of one of Jenrosa’s cutting remarks.

He shut his eyes to think about Jenrosa. He had fancied her once upon a time; now he did not know how he felt toward her; she was his friend, his companion, but nothing else stirred in him. That disappointed him. Maybe he should have followed her to her room that night in the inn; at least then Prado and his thugs would not have been able to steal him away.

Gudon stirred in his sleep and muttered something in a language Lynan could not understand. Here I am, in the middle of a mountain range, with a lame Chett and a tired horse for company. I should be hiding under a rock in despair. But instead he was feeling… he could not quite find the word, but was surprised to find that “content” came closest. It was not what he had expected. But even as he questioned it, he realized the reasons for it. He was still alive, he was within two days journey of at least some kind of refuge, and when his powerful enemies thought of him at all, they thought of him as a threat.

He found Leurtas again and glowered at it, as if it represented everything in the south that wanted him dead and gone and forgotten. Anger sparked a cold fire inside of him, and the contentment was sharpened by a new determination.

I will survive, he promised the star. And I will return to claim what is mine, no matter who tries to stop me. I am Prince Lynan Rosetheme, son of Queen Usharna and Elynd Chisal, and I hold a Key of Power.

Chapter 25

One moment Lynan and Gudon were surrounded by stunted trees and harsh saltbush, their feet and the hoofs of their horse slipping on the scree, and the next they half fell, half stumbled onto level ground. The flanks of the Ufero Mountains towered above them like stone giants, gray and grim. For the first time in two days Lynan saw flowering plants: mountain daisies and summer trees, shinbark and sharrok pines. And there were birds. He could not see them, but he could hear them. He could also hear water.

“Is this the Algonka Pass?”

“The south side. You can hear the Algonka River a few hundred paces from here, marked by that line of trees. Beyond that is the road.”

They did not set off immediately but rested briefly from their descent, and Lynan applied more haethu to Gudon’s knee and his jaw. Lynan had to admit the haethu was working; he could no longer see bone in Gudon’s wound, and the flesh and skin were starting to knit into an ugly scar. His own scar was smoother now, and there was no longer any pain.

“I think I will have a limp,” Gudon said almost cheerfully, patting his leg.

“No need to sound so happy about it.”

“Considering I almost lost the whole leg, it is a pleasant alternative. Besides, we Chett live in the saddle.” He rubbed his backside gingerly. “Well, most of us. My life on the river has spoiled me.”

The Algonka was indeed shallow, and although the water was incredibly cold, they had no trouble crossing. They passed through the opposite river gallery and stopped. There was a huge caravan making its way on the road, its start lost in the haze to the west, and its end lost somewhere in the east. Great wagons drawn by teams of ten or more horses trundled by, their huge wheels sounding like milling stones on the dirt road. Dust hung over the caravan like a brown shroud. Lynan saw men riding shaggy looking ponies and mules, keeping an eye on their property and occasionally lashing the labouring horses to keep them moving. Lynan had never seen anything like it. Almost all goods coming into Kendra made it by boat.

“The Failing Sun Caravan,” Gudon said. “I was hoping we would run into it.”

“The Failing Sun?”

“The last great caravan before winter sets in and makes this road impassable. All the merchants from Hume and even Chandra who can contribute to it do so. They bring metals and wine, weapons and tools, and take back thousands of cattle and horses. It is easier going west than going east, believe me. You don’t want to journey accompanied by so many beasts. I have tried it.”

“What do we do? Just join it?”

“Truth. There are so many in the caravan, two more will make no difference. The merchants and their guards will ignore us as long as we ignore them.”

Lynan tugged on the horse’s reins, and they moved forward and merged with the great stream of traffic. Around them milled merchants on horseback or on foot, their servants scurrying behind or riding on the wagons; some children ran past playing a game of catch-me; one old man on a donkey was selling honey wine from a huge flask strapped to his back. They ended up following a wagon loaded with painted pottery, all packed in straw boats. Lynan spent most of the next hour avoiding horse droppings, but in the end gave up and just trudged on, oblivious of what he stepped in. After a while the dust thrown up by the caravan had coated his face and gotten in his mouth and ears. He suggested to Gudon they move away from the center of the caravan and closer to the river.

“I do not think that is a good idea, little master. Here we are lost among so many. No reason to make ourselves stand out.”

“I am dying of thirst, Gudon.”

“Well, then, I will see to that.” He hailed the vendor of honey wine and offered some of his haethu in exchange for two glasses; the vendor agreed willingly. Lynan hesitantly accepted the dirty glass, but the wine that poured down his throat was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and seemed to take all the dust on its way down to his gullet. They carried on, moving in the middle of the great beast. He noticed people munching on biscuits as they walked or rode. “Does no one stop for a meal?” he asked Gudon.

“The caravan only stops at night. It is too much effort otherwise, and there is protection in numbers.”

“Protection from whom?”

“There are bandits hereabouts who prey on merchants foolish enough to get separated from the caravan. Some from Hume, some Chett, some from distant lands who cannot make a living doing anything else except preying on the weak and vulnerable.”

After climbing along the slopes of the mountains for two days, Lynan found it easy to keep pace with the large wagons. He watched all about him with great curiosity, and now and then Gudon offered a commentary. “That one has come all the way from Lurisia—see the timber in his wagon? The tribes will use that to make their bows and shelters. Over there, I do believe, are priests of the Lord of the Mountain from Aman, coming to make converts among my people; they have wasted their journey, I fear. The merchant with the tall hat is from Sharrock; it will take him nearly half a year to return home…”

And these are all from Theare, Lynan thought to himself. Indeed, most of them were from some part of Grenda Lear. For the first time in his life he had a notion of just how diverse was the kingdom’s makeup. The maps he had seen did not do it justice. He felt a surge of pride that he was a scion of the family that had united all of these peoples under one crown.

Gudon tapped him on the shoulder. “Do not turn around, but wait for him to pass. A tall man on a big horse.”

A moment later Lynan saw the man come into view. He was dressed in leather armor and was inspecting every one he passed. He threw Lynan and Gudon a lingering glance, but moved on.

“Mercenary,” Lynan said.

“Truth. Searching for us. Prado or one of his men must have survived, and their friends have come looking for us.”

“How do you know that? They could be looking for someone else…” The argument sounded hollow even to him. “Why didn’t he look us over more closely?”

“Think, little master. If you were searching for a prince and a pilot, who would you assume was on the horse?”

Lynan laughed. “Your injury may yet do us good.”

“This time, but perhaps not next time,” Gudon cautioned. “We must become even less conspicuous. Early in the morning, before the dust rises, we will be more obvious.”

The wagon in front of them hit a hole in the road. The load of fragile pottery shifted, and the straw boats at the back started to slip through a loosened knot. Lynan threw Gudon the reins and rushed forward. He tightened the rope across the back of the wagon and retied the knot. A short, bearded man appeared on a donkey. He raised a cane to strike at Lynan’s hands.

“Good sir!” Gudon cried out. “He has saved your goods from destruction!”

The merchant hesitated, holding his cane high in the air.

“Sir,” Lynan said in as meek a voice as possible, “the rope was loose. See the knot I have tied? Is this yours?”

The merchant lowered his arm and leaned over the donkey to see the knot. He had a small, sharp face, and his eyes gleamed like a rat’s. “My father’s soul,” he sighed, shaking his head, “that is not my knot. Forgive me, sir. You have done me a great favor and I would have caned you for it.” The merchant sucked through his teeth. “But there is an obligation. You will eat in my tent tonight.”

“That is too much generosity,” Gudon argued. “It was only a knot!”

Lynan scowled at Gudon. They had no food, and the crazy pilot was throwing away a free meal!

“Too much generosity!” cried the merchant. “I will show you too much generosity! Not only will you eat with me tonight, you will sleep with me and my servants so you will be safe from brigands!”

Gudon bowed his head. “You are munificent.”

The merchant puffed himself up. “Yes. And I am generous.”

“Indeed,” Gudon agreed, smiling faintly. “My name is Gudon. My friend’s name is—”

“Migam!” Lynan said quickly.

“Migam,” Gudon confirmed.

“Good to meet you, I am sure. I am Goodman Gatheras, merchant from Sparro, dealer in the world’s finest pottery. Have you seen my wares?”

“Indeed,” Gudon said. “We have been following your wagon for several hours and admiring the pottery.”

“The Chetts will buy all of this?” Lynan asked.

“Most of it,” Gatheras replied. “Much of which they will then sell on to merchants from Haxus in the spring. I also sell some of my wares to other merchants like me. The Failing Sun Caravan is a great opportunity to meet those from faraway lands.” He looked downcast then. “Alas, it is also a great opportunity for thieves.” He blinked at Lynan. “For which I mistook you.”

“An innocent mistake,” Lynan told him.

Gatheras sat erect on his donkey, a proud king dressed in a merchant’s finery. “Not only am I munificent and generous,” he declared, “I am also plenteous. Not only will you share our food and our tent, but I offer you the protection of my company all the way to the Strangers’ Sooq.”

“Ah, benevolence!” Gudon cried, raising his arms in supplication. “What fortune to have tied your knot!”

The merchant nodded stiffly, accepting the compliment. “I must see to the knots on my other wagons. Excuse me.” He tapped the donkey with his cane and trotted off into the dust, muttering to himself: “Munificent… generous… plenteous… benevolent…”

“Your good deed has served us well,” Gudon said to Lynan.

“The mercenary returns,” Lynan said under his breath.

The rider in leather was in more of a hurry going back down the line. He barely glanced at the pair.

“The real danger will be at the sooq,” Gudon said. “It will be easier for them to discern between merchants and freeloaders like us.”

“How are we going to find Lynan amid all this?” Jenrosa asked. She coughed as even more dust found its way down her throat. All around her trundled wagons, herds of people and stamping horses. She desperately wanted to ride, to try and get above at least some of the dust and confusion, but Kumul had insisted they stay on foot. It was the only chance they had of making himself and Ager even remotely inconspicuous.

They had reached the pass an hour before. Ager had known of the Failing Sun Caravan from his work with merchants, but Kumul and Jenrosa were overwhelmed first by the spectacle and then by the confusion. They felt like grains of wheat floating helplessly with the current of a great river. The sun, low in the western horizon, was shining full on their faces; it looked obscenely distended and red in the haze, but its light was still strong enough to make them squint.

“We have no chance of finding him in this crowd without bringing attention to ourselves,” Ager said. “We will have to wait until we reach the Strangers’ Sooq at the end of the pass.”

“How long?” Jenrosa asked.

“I have never traveled this road, but I have been told the journey from Daavis is four days with a wagon: two days to reach the Algonka Pass and two days to cross and reach the sooq. We came onto the road about halfway along the pass. So a day, maybe two, at the most.”

“And if we do find Lynan there, what next?”

“Into the Oceans of Grass,” Kumul said, not sounding too happy about their prospects. “If we have figured all of this out, then so have the mercenaries.”

They had noticed the scouts moving up and down the line and had dismounted before being seen, taking cover behind a large wagon carrying sheep hides built up into fleecy hills.

“We might have seemed nothing more than guards for some of the merchants,” Ager suggested weakly.

“We have no reason to expect fortune to favor us so suddenly,” Jenrosa said.

“She is right,” Kumul said. “They will recognize us if they see us.”

“Then, when the caravan halts for the night, we must find our way to its center,” Ager said. “There is some obscurity in numbers.”

Kumul agreed. “If Lynan is among this lot, then we may find him there, too.”

“We might do better to search for his wounded companion,” Jenrosa suggested.

“Good idea,” Ager said. “But our main objective at this point should be to remain unnoticed until we reach the sooq.”

They trudged on, keeping an eye out for any sign of more mercenaries. Jenrosa tried to take in what was going on around her, the merchants and their colorful clothes, the different goods being carried by the wagons, but she had to concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other. She was more tired than she could have imagined possible back in her slow and comfortable life as a student magicker. She wondered if she would ever have that again, that feeling of not being hunted, of not desperately seeking some kind of sanctuary. That, in turn, made her think of the Oceans of Grass; the very name suggested vast distances where an army could lose itself, and a germ of hope kindled in her heart. Perhaps there, an insignificant speck, she would find peace again. Even as she had the thought, something inside of her rebelled against it. Life in Kendra may have been comfortable, but it had also been numbingly boring. Would the Cherts allow her to practice her magic? What magic did they use? Could they teach her?

These were questions she would have to find answers to. She found her steps becoming lighter.

Eder gave Rendle the latest report from the scouts as they rode along Algonka Pass, the company following behind four abreast. They were still three hours’ ride behind the caravan and would not reach it before nightfall. His captain heard him out without speaking a word. “At least there are no signs of Chetts in any number,” Eder offered halfheartedly when he had finished.

“There will be at the sooq,” Rendle spat. “And if we don’t find the prince soon, that’s where we’ll end up.”

“Do you want to wait in the pass, then?”

Rendle shook his head. “Even if we don’t find him, I still intend to head north to Haxus. This new queen in Kendra is sitting loose on her throne. Why else hire mercenary companies and send them north? Destiny blows behind Salokan now. He will need trained bands like ours. Prince Lynan was just an extra bargaining chip. Even if we turn up without him, we can let Salokan know he is still alive and still an outlaw.”

Eder nodded at Prado, riding a few paces behind and hanging half off his horse. “He will not last to Haxus.”

“He only has to last to Strangers’ Sooq. He can identify the prince and the pilot for sure.” He slapped his thigh with frustration. “Are you sure the scouts saw no pair fitting Prado’s descriptions?”

“They saw several traveling in pairs, some with one horse, some with two, some just walking. All different sizes. Some were Chetts. Unless they actually stop and interrogate them all, how can they be sure? And that will only antagonize the merchants and their guards.”

“Send out more scouts,” Rendle ordered. “Even if we just identify them, we can wait until we reach the sooq to take the prince.”

“The Chetts and merchants won’t like that,” Eder complained. “The drawing of weapons is forbidden there.”

“What can they do about it? We have over two hundred armed riders. No one can stop us, and before the Chetts can organize a war party, we’ll be long gone, riding hard for Haxus.”

Eder left to give the order. Alone, Rendle felt his anger and frustration rising. He wanted to lash out at someone. Anyone. He slowed until Prado had caught up and punched the man in the back. Prado shot up like a branded colt.

“Keep in your saddle, Prado,” Rendle said fiercely. “You haven’t finished yet.”

Prado glared at him. “You would not treat me like this if my veterans were here. I always led a better company than your ragtag collection.”

“But you don’t have your veterans with you, and you never will again if we don’t recover the prince and turn him over to Salokan. No money, no company. Right now you’re nothing more than a poor old soldier who’s fallen on evil times.” Prado turned his face away from him. Rendle angrily grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back. Their horses skittered to a stop and Rendle’s men rode around them like water flowing around a rock. “How sure are you the prince escaped the river? You’re not lying to me, are you?”

Prado pulled his head away, leaving a handful of hair in Rendle’s fist, and gave the captain a jagged grin. “If I am, you won’t know until it’s too late. What do you think the Chett will do when they see Captain Rendle appear at the Strangers’ Sooq with his company of hated riders? They haven’t forgotten you, old slaver, mark my words.”

“Then they won’t have forgotten you either,” Rendle returned and spurred on his horse, Prado sneering after him.

Lynan could not sleep. Gatheras had overwhelmed them with his benevolent, munificent and plenteous generosity. He could not remember ever having eaten so much. The merchant must have had a whole wagon devoted to supplies, most of it food and wine. There had been roast pig and fowl, potato and pea soup, hard wheat bread with dried fish and spiced yogurt spread, sesame balls made with honey, and white wine and red wine, and a sickly mead at the end of the meal that made him feel dizzy and slightly nauseous. All of it now roiled in his stomach, unused to such splendor.

If I sleep, I will have nightmares, he told himself. From now on I eat nothing but berries and nuts.

He groaned and tried turning in the bedding Gatheras had loaned him. He wanted to see the stars, but he and Gudon were now sharing ground with Gatheras and seven of his eight servants under a huge tent. Snores and snuffles mumbled in the background, and the smell of silent burps and not-so-silent farts filled the air. Giving in to his insomnia, he got up and carefully made his way to the flap. Outside stood the eighth servant, standing guard with a huge club. Lynan rubbed his belly and made a sour face. The guard smiled knowingly, patted his own belly and belched loudly.

Although he could now see the sky, it was made faint by the forty or more campfires that burned brightly in the caravan camp. He was still surrounded by sleeping bodies. Hundreds of them. Dozens of tents, some of them even bigger than Gatheras‘, swelled in the darkness like beached whales, and circling the camp were the wagons forming a wooden wall. He made his way to the piss trench, gingerly stepping over heads and arms. He could hear the Algonka River gurgling nearby, and something else. He quickly relieved himself and listened more carefully. Sounds of horses, many of them. The occasional clink of steel slapping on steel or leather. He edged around the side of one of the wagons and peered into the darkness. The ground sloped gently down to the river and a small glen, and between the trees of the glen he could make out the dark shapes of horses. Now and then he saw men dressed in leather gear, just like the mercenaries he and Gudon had observed riding up and down the caravan during the day.

God’s death! he thought. It’s Prado and his men!

His first reaction was to ran back to Gatheras’ tent and raise the alarm, but he stopped himself. What good would raising the alarm do? Why would anyone care? It was no concern of Gatheras or his fellow merchants. Lynan forced himself to think calmly. If the mercenaries were after him, either they did not know he was in the camp or had decided they could not move against him yet; otherwise he would already be their prisoner. He had to warn Gudon, but knew that until they reached Strangers’ Sooq there was nothing either of them could do.

His stomach forgotten, he returned to Gatheras’ tent and gently shook Gudon awake.

Gudon listened wearily and said, “Since there is nothing to be done, I suggest you try and sleep.” He closed his eyes again.

“Sleep? How can I sleep now?”

Gudon sighed, sat up and gently pushed Lynan down. He started to sing. Lynan blushed. “I’m no babe to be sung a lulla… lull…”

His eye lids fluttered and closed, and he sensed a dark sheet falling over his mind.

Chapter 26

Someone was kissing his cheek. He tried to open his eyes, but it was much harder than it should have been. The kissing was getting harder. Odd, he thought, dimly remembering where he was. A horrific image of Gatheras taking advantage of him gave Lynan the extra encouragement he needed to prize open his eyelids. He looked up into the face not of Gatheras but of Gudon, and Gudon was not kissing him, he was slapping him.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled.

“Waking you up, little master.”

“It’s dawn already?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go.”

Lynan shook his head to clear it. “What did you say?”

“I have to go. I must leave before it is light.”

Lynan sat up straight. “What are you talking about?” He could not hide the catch in his voice. He was being set adrift again.

“I want to get to the Strangers’ Sooq before the caravan. I must find my friends to arrange things.”

“Can’t I come with you?”

“The mercenaries have set guards. They will not worry too much about a single Chett—many of us travel along the pass—but they will decidedly pay attention if they see you.”

“But what will I do?” He tried not to sound desperate. He searched for courage, but it seemed far, far away.

“I have asked Gatheras to let you stay with him. I told him I would make sure he gets favorable treatment from the Chetts. He agreed, and will take you with him to the sooq.”

“But what will I do when I get there?”

“If I am not there to greet you, you must find a Chett dealer named Kayakun. You can trust this man. He will know what to do. You must follow his instructions precisely. Do you understand?”

Lynan nodded, not really understanding but at least willing to trust Gudon. “What about your knee?”

“Gatheras will help me to the horse. I will have no trouble riding to the sooq. It is not that far for a single rider.” Gudon patted Lynan’s shoulder. “You will be all right. Keep your eyes open. Talk only to Gatheras. If I am not at the sooq, find Kayakun.”

“Are you ready?” Gatheras said behind Lynan, making him start in surprise.

Gudon nodded and Gatheras approached and offered the Chett a hand up. Gudon left the tent without another word. Lynan hugged his knees. He wanted to curl up into a ball and let the world pass him by. He did not want to stand, or leave the tent, or go to the Strangers’ Sooq, or find a man called Kayakun. He wanted the past weeks to evaporate into a nightmare and leave him warm and safe in his bed back in Kendra’s palace.

He stayed like that for several minutes. Gatheras returned and squatted down beside him. “It is the small things in life that make it worthwhile,” the merchant said in a businesslike tone. “Take, for example, the knot you tied on the rope around my wagon. It was a little thing, but it meant a great deal to me. I will take you to the Strangers’ Sooq. It is a little thing, but I think it will mean a great deal to you. Am I right?”

Lynan nodded.

“Good. Now you must do a little thing. You must stand.”

Lynan met Gatheras’s gaze. “I am—”

“Do not say afraid. No one is afraid to stand up.” Gatheras stood up, his arms out wide as if to embrace the idea. “A little thing.”

Lynan swallowed and stood up. “A little thing,” he said, his voice wavering.

Gatheras held out a tunic. “This carries the sign of my house. You will wear it until we reach the Sooq. This is a particular request from Gudon.”

Lynan took off his coat and exchanged it for the tunic.

“Now everyone will think you work for me and not spare you a second glance.”

Lynan frowned. “How much did Gudon tell you about me?”

Gatheras smiled mysteriously. “Are you hungry?”

Remembering the huge meal he had last night he started to say no, but when he thought about it he realized he was hungry. “Yes,” he said.

“Then the next little thing we will do is eat. I cannot have my servants passing out from lack of food. Come with me.”

Gudon kicked the horse into an easy trot. As he rode from the camp, the ground started sloping gently toward the west. It would level out a few leagues on, and an hour’s hard ride after that he would reach the first Chett outposts, single warriors hidden in grass hides who watched the comings and goings of everyone leaving the Algonka Pass.

A mercenary guard rode toward him, keeping parallel until Gudon waved at him and held up two string baskets, each holding one of Gatheras’ beautiful pots. The mercenary shook his head, Gudon shrugged and continued on. After a while, the mercenary dropped back to resume his station.

Gudon thought he had made it through when a second mercenary appeared suddenly from a copse near the river. Gudon did not want to appear like a fugitive, so he slowed and waited for the mercenary to catch up. The rider wheeled his horse in front of Gudon, barring his escape. He was a thickset bruiser with hairy arms and ragged black hair tied back in an ivory pinch. He smiled genially enough and rubbed his chin with a callused finger.

“Early start?” he asked.

“Indeed, master.” He held up his baskets. “I intend to be the first to tempt the markets with my employer’s wares.”

“Who is that?”

“His name is Gatheras; he comes from Sparro.”

The mercenary nodded, then pointed to Gudon’s leg. “Nasty wound. How did you get it?”

“I was bitten by a horse, master.”

The mercenary laughed. “This one?”

“Oh, no. I ate the one that bit me.”

“I heard the Chetts eat those who attack them, even humans.”

“Forgive me, master, but that is a myth. We never eat anything that walks on two legs. So no humans, and no birds.”

“That sounds reasonable.” The mercenary edged his horse closer. “I think I would like you to come with me. My captain would like to talk with you.”

Gudon expressed surprise. “Your captain is interested in pottery?”

“Among other things.” He leaned over to take the reins of Gudon’s horse and never saw the thin bone knife Gudon drove into the nape of his neck. The mercenary gasped once and fell from his saddle. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Gudon quickly reached to grab the stirrup of the mercenary’s horse. The animal whinnied and stamped but did not try to pull away. Gudon tied the reins to his own saddle before carefully dismounting, putting his weight on his left leg. He bent over the mercenary and used his knife to cut out a small square of his cheek muscle, then swallowed it whole.

“In your case, master, I will make an exception about eating my enemy.”

He slipped the knife back into its sleeve behind his neck before quickly tying a rope around the mercenary’s hands and looping it over the saddle of the dead man’s horse. He then hobbled to the other side and used all his strength to pull the mercenary over the saddle. He got back on his own horse, took the reins of the second mount and set off again, singing softly to the paling sky overhead.

“I am starving,” Kumul groaned. He got up from the ground, dusted off the coat he had been lying on and scratched his graying hair.

“Think of all the beef that awaits you at the Oceans of Grass,” Ager said. “Thousands—millions!—of cattle, all waiting to be devoured by a carnivore like you.”

Kumul’s stomach growled so loudly people nearby turned to see what the disturbance was.

“Then again, do not think of it,” Ager suggested. “Think instead of being small, of being invisible. Particularly think of making no sound that will attract attention to you.”

Kumul scowled at the crookback. “I cannot help it. We haven’t eaten properly in days.”

Jenrosa joined them, leading their horses. “The first wagons have set off.”

“Did you see any sign of—?” Kumul began, but Jenrosa shook her head. “Lynan is here. I know it. I can feel it.”

“You are not a magicker, Kumul,” Ager said. “Don’t raise our hopes too high. He may already be ahead of us.” He looked across to the river where the mercenaries were watering their horses. “At least they haven’t got him.”

“I think Kumul is right,” Jenrosa said. “And I am a magicker. I can feel something as well, and I trust my senses in this.”

“Be that as it may, we can’t be obvious about it and go searching for Lynan. We will go with the caravan to the sooq. When the caravan breaks up, we may spot him.”

“The mercenaries are leaving,” Kumul said. The others looked up and saw the company moving out, riding at a trot to get ahead of the caravan and its dust. He wished they could do the same. He noticed that some of them stayed behind. Kumul pointed to them. “They will keep back to keep a lookout from the caravan’s rear.”

“I’ll return soon,” Jenrosa said and left for the river, taking the horses with her.

“What is she doing?” Ager asked Kumul, alarmed when he saw her walking toward the mercenaries waiting for the caravan to pull ahead.

Kumul grunted his approval. “What we cannot do ourselves. With my size and your crookback we would be recognized right away.”

They spent a nervous few minutes watching her water the horses and refill their leather bottles. Two mercenaries were standing not ten paces from her, talking between themselves.

When she returned, they started off, keeping as close as possible to a large wagon that hid them from any casual search.

“Did you overhear them?” Ager asked impatiently.

“They know their captain is searching for someone, but not who he is. They are worried that he is taking them so close to Chett territory. They are scared of them.”

“Did they say who is their captain?”

“No, but it isn’t Prado. They talked about him being with their chief, but they did not seem fond of him.”

“Not surprising,” Kumul noted. “Not after he lost their prize catch.”

“There was something else,” Jenrosa said. “They kept on talking about not going back to Hume. They were upset about it.”

Kumul and Ager exchanged glances. “You were right,” Kumul said. “They are going north.”

“With or without Lynan,” Ager said. “That could mean that if we find Lynan and hide him from them, they will eventually give up their search and leave.”

“I think, as we get closer to the sooq, the mercenaries will become more desperate,” Jenrosa said. “It’s important we find Lynan first.”

“We talked about that and agreed—” Ager started, but Jenrosa cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“No, you talked about it. I agreed to nothing. I am going to find Lynan. You two stay here. And don’t worry, no one will be bothered about me.”

She gave Kumul the reins to her horse, and before either man could stop her, she ducked around the rear of the wagon and disappeared.

“She will get us all killed,” Ager complained.

Kumul shook his head. “No. No, I don’t think so. She will be fine.”

Ager thought he heard something more than respect in his friend’s voice. He looked keenly at Kumul but could read nothing in his expression.

A wind blew up and sent dust into their eyes. They bowed their heads and ploughed on.

Lynan was riding on one of Gatheras’ wagons when he saw the lush green circle of growth that surrounded the Strangers’ Sooq. He stood up on the board to get a better view. South of the sooq began the Lesser Desert, its gray rocky ground dull under the bright autumn sun, but to the west and north of the sooq started the Oceans of Grass. It was not the brilliant green he had imagined, but a washed-out green, like thin agate. And it moved. He held his breath in wonder. Breezes played across the grass like invisible hands. It seemed to him that the whole plain was alive.

“It is beautiful,” he said aloud.

The driver beside him snorted. “I have been here during drought. It is dead then, as dead as the desert.”

Lynan did not believe this place could ever be truly dead. This is the greatest life I have ever seen, he thought.

“Sit down, boy,” Gatheras hissed, pulling along side on his donkey. Lynan sat down in something of a daze. The merchant saw Lynan’s expression and chuckled. “Quite a sight the first time, isn’t it?” he said.

“It is beautiful.”

Gatheras looked thoughtfully at him. “The only people I have heard call it that before were Chetts.”

“My grandmother was a Chett,” Lynan said absently, his attention still focused on the plain.

“Indeed? She must have been very short for a Chett.”

Jenrosa had walked as casually as possible from wagon to wagon, trying to see the face of every person she passed without being obvious about it. There were no mercenaries riding with the caravan anymore, but that was not to say they did not have their spies here looking out for anyone behaving oddly. She passed wagons carrying dried fruits, spices, pottery, iron and copper ingots, ropes and cloth; she walked by merchants and servants, fellow travelers and priests. And no sign of Lynan.

Her attention was distracted when the sooq came into view. The sight of the verdant water hole and the vast distances beyond made her gasp. The plains drew out to meet the sky at some distant horizon. The grass seemed to move in time with the scattered clouds that scudded overhead. She breathed in deeply, and smelled grass and air and… and freedom. It was like nothing she could have imagined, but now that she had seen it she knew that somehow it was what she had been looking for her whole life. A new world, she thought. A home.

Angry words roused her from her reverie, and she dodged aside as a wagon loaded with lumber trundled past, its driver still swearing at her. She swore back and was stomping off, pretending high dudgeon, when she saw a youth had also been captivated by the sight of the sooq. He was standing on a wagon hauling pottery. Someone came up on a donkey and said something to him and he sat down, still staring ahead. She noted the livery he wore, and because she became conscious of it was able to imagine the youth’s build without it.

She stopped in her tracks. Oh God oh God oh God… She started running to catch up with the wagon, but then changed her mind and stopped again. A man walking with a long stick swerved to avoid her and muttered something indecent. She ignored him. She could not just go up and grab Lynan and hug him and cry in relief. That would draw more attention than either of them wanted. She thought quickly. She knows where he was now. She had to get the others. They would trail behind and make their move when the caravan reached the sooq. She could barely contain her excitement.

She turned back to find Kumul and Ager, and soon discovered them trudging beside the same wagon she had left them with. She tapped both on the shoulder as she came abreast. She made sure her face was downcast, but it was a struggle.

Kumul glanced at her. “At least you tried,” he said encouragingly.

“True,” she said, sighing.

“I still think it was a dangerous thing to do,” Ager commented, but his voice was concerned, not angry.

“True.”

“I wonder where is right now, and what he’s doing,” Kumul said.

“Sitting on a wagon tending a load-full of pottery,” Jenrosa suggested casually.

Kumul snorted. “Probably.”

They walked on for a while in silence until the sooq came into view and Kumul and Ager saw it for the first time.

“Quite a sight,” Ager said. “I think Lynan would be impressed.”

“He was,” Jenrosa said.

They fell quiet again. A minute later Ager looked sideways at Jenrosa. “What did you say?” Jenrosa feigned puzzlement. “You said something about Lynan.”

“I did?”

Silence again. And then, despite all her efforts, the laughter came. First, just the pressure of air against her throat, then a sort of explosion through her nose, and finally a great guffaw that startled her companions. She could not speak. Eventually, the guffawing weakened to a persistent giggling that hurt her ribs. Ager’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding and he joined in. Kumul looked at both of them as if they were mad. His expression made Jenrosa and Ager laugh more violently. They finally got it under control, reducing their mirth to a hoary wheeze.

“People are looking,” Kumul hissed at them.

“Right,” Ager said tightly, and that set him and Jenrosa off again.

“God’s death!” Kumul snapped. “What’s so bloody funny?”

“Don’t you see?” Ager said, forcing the words between fits of laughter. “Jenrosa found him!”

Revelation made Kumul’s face go pale under his close-cropped beard, and then the broadest smile Jenrosa had ever seen lit up his face, and seeing it, her own heart lifted even higher.

Lynan could now make out among the trees buildings made of white stone. They were all two stories with flat roofs and curved corners. The road ribboned around the sooq and ended in a cleared area to the west. And there, in their brown leather armor and with their glinting weapons, were the mercenaries. Most were dismounted, but there was no pretense of making a camp. They were waiting. Lynan could see some of the locals watching them from between the trees. He hoped Gudon had made it through.

Lynan asked Gatheras if he knew where he could find Kayakun.

The merchant shook his head. “Apparently, Gudon was going to arrange for him to meet us.”

“If Gudon reached the sooq,” Lynan said.

“I do not know this Gudon as well as you,” Gatheras said, “but if he is only half as competent as every other Chert I’ve met, he not only reached the sooq but has probably arranged rooms for us at the only inn and prepared a five-course meal for us as well.”

By the time they reached the cleared area it was already filling up with wagons and merchants putting up covered stalls and tents. Many locals, most of them Chetts, were wandering around to get an idea of the goods being put up for sale and trade. Lynan tried not to look at every Chett that wandered by as he helped unload Gatheras’ wagons. They built small pyramids with the pots so every shape and size could be displayed. Gatheras made sure to ask after the health of every visitor, and Lynan could not help admiring his ability at always turning the conversation toward the necessity of owning pots to carry food and wine and grain and spices—indeed, to carry anything of value.

The work was hard and seemed to go on for hours. When he and Gatheras’ servants had finally finished unloading the wagons, the sun was only a hands span from the horizon, and despite a warm breeze starting to blow from the plains toward the mountains, the temperature had dropping noticeably. Some of the servants got a fire going and started cooking the evening meal. Even more locals were visiting the stalls now, taking advantage of the cooler air and drawn by the distractions offered by the visiting caravan.

Lynan noticed that the Chetts, unlike their brethren in the east, all wore traditional Chett clothing: tight-fitting linen trousers and loose shirts with a v-shaped opening for the head; some wore wide heavy ponchos decorated with bright symbols denoting tribe, clan, and family. It was livery of sorts, but much more colorful than the designs worn by soldiers and servants in any of the provinces on the eastern side of the mountains.

By now Lynan could not help wondering what had happened to Gudon. He had seen no sight of him, and no one had approached him on Gudon’s behalf.

As the other servants were about to start their evening meal he was called over by Gatheras. The merchant was standing next to a Chett tall even for his own people, his dark hair streaked with gray and his golden skin as rough as a lizard’s. The Chett looked down his nose at Lynan. “This servant?” he asked.

Lynan studied the Chett closely. Was this Kayakun? He was about to ask when Gatheras grasped his arm tightly in warning.

“I know he is small, sir, but Migam is stronger than he looks. He will carry the three pots without falling behind.” He turned to Lynan. “This noble gentleman is purchasing several of our wares, but he needs three samples to show other Chett buyers who are staying with him while the caravan is here. You will carry them to his home for him.”

Lynan nodded curtly. His stomach was doing somersaults. “Which pots, sir?” he asked the Chett, trying to keep his voice even.

The Chett did not bother speaking to Lynan but merely pointed to the three he wanted. Lynan groaned inside. They were big. He put them one in the other and lifted the lot up to his left shoulder like he had seen the other servants do. The Chett walked off and Lynan followed. They crossed the camp and were soon among tall spray trees, their trunks sectioned in rings; beautiful lion flowers grew from them, nodding in the evening breeze. They reached a dirt track and started passing homes and shops still open for business. The smell of food was everywhere, reminding Lynan that he was hungry again.

“Do not turn around, but we are being followed,” the Chett said casually. “Five men wearing cloaks, but I can see leather armor underneath.”

Lynan’s heart started racing. “Sir, I think they mean me harm.”

“Probably,” the Chett said, but seemed unconcerned by the prospect. “I would prefer any confrontation not to occur in such a public space.” They passed an outdoor tavern and turned left down a narrow alley crowded on both sides by buildings.

“But this is a dead end!” Lynan cried.

“Walk ahead of me and put down your pots,” the Chett said calmly. As Lynan passed him, he turned on his heel and drew a long knife that had been hidden beneath his poncho. None too gently, Lynan rested the pots against a wall and stood behind the Chett. Five men turned into the alley, shadows against the setting sun. They stopped when they saw the armed man facing them. One of them, the biggest, stepped forward.

“We are not after you,” he said to the Chett. “We want the lad.”

“You can take the pottery, but I am responsible for the boy until I return him to his master.”

The mercenary spread his arms in a wide shrug, simultaneously showing the long cavalry sword hanging from his belt. “We wish him no harm. My captain has business with him.” He reached for a pouch on his belt and shook it. Coins jingled. “We will pay you to leave him in our care. You could tell his master he ran away. No one will be the wiser.”

The Chett considered the offer for a moment. Lynan readied himself to pounce. If he could take the Chett’s knife, he might be able to force a way through the soldiers before they had time to react. Then, to his surprise, the Chett shook his head.

“No, I think not.”

The mercenary sighed and waved for his fellows to join him. The narrow alley forced them into pairs. As one they threw their cloaks over their shoulders and drew their swords. “I am sorry to hear you say that,” the big one said, and he advanced with his weapon held out in front of him. The Chett suddenly leaped forward in a move that surprised Lynan as much as the mercenaries. His knife flicked once, twice, and he sprang back again. The leader fell, hitting the ground face down with a satisfying whack. Blood seeped from underneath his body. The other mercenaries hesitated and threw each other nervous glances.

“I can dispose of four of you in this confined space without much difficulty,” the Chett said, his tone almost bored.

“He’s right,” one of the mercenaries said. “Three of us can wait outside the alley while the other gets help.”

There were mumbles of agreement and they started to retreat. Because they kept their gaze on the Chett and Lynan, they never saw the two figures appear in the mouth of the alley behind them, one huge and the other somehow malformed. They heard the snick of steel sliding against scabbard, but before they could turn, three of them were savagely cut down. The fourth yelped, twisted to face the Chett, then desperately twisted again to meet the threat behind him. A giant shadow loomed over him. For a split second, light sparked off a sword swung high in the air before it was brought down so hard it split the mercenary’s head in two. Blood fountained into the air and what had been a face slapped into the dirt. Amazingly, what was left of the mercenary remained standing, his body teetering, the blade that had drunk his life lodged in bone and tendon. The giant twisted the sword and pulled it away. The dead man fell back against a wall and crumpled to the ground. His legs and arms twitched obscenely and then were still.

Another, slighter figure appeared at the end of the alley. “Lynan?”

Lynan took a hesitant step forward. He recognized the voice, and the shapes of the two swordsmen, but dared not believe it.

“Grief, your Highness, you’ve led us on a long run,” the giant said.

“Do you know these people?” the Chett asked.

In answer, Lynan ran forward. He jumped onto the giant, his arms wrapping around the broad shoulders, his hands slapping the back. “Oh, God, Kumul! Kumul!” Tears stung his eyes but he did not care.

The giant hugged Lynan in turn and lifted him off the ground. “I thought we had lost you forever, lad,” he croaked.

Ager and Jenrosa came up to the pair and added their weight to the huddle. They started springing up and down like children, back-slapping and hugging.

The Chett looked on with an amused smile. “Well, that answers my question.” He cleaned and sheathed his knife and waited patiently until the celebration ended. When the four friends finally parted from each other, he said: “Migam. Lynan. Whatever your name is. You still have three pots to deliver.”

Lynan wiped his cheeks and nodded. “Yes, of course.” He looked up in sudden remorse. “I haven’t thanked you for defending me! I’m sorry, sir—”

The Chett waved aside his apology. “I am grateful for the opportunity of sticking one of Rendle’s mercenaries. Besides, Gudon would never have forgiven me if I let any harm come to you.”

“Rendle!” Kumul exclaimed in surprise. “He’s the bastard behind all of this?”

The Chett regarded Kumul with something like respect. “Indeed. I recognized him as soon as he arrived with his company.”

“Was Jes Prado with him?”

It was the Chett’s turn to look surprised. “Prado is riding with him? All the gods of earth!”

“You know Gudon?” Lynan asked.

“He’s waiting for you at my house.”

“So you are Kayakun,” Lynan said with something like relief.

The Chett bowed deeply. “Your Majesty.”

“Who is Gudon, Lynan?” Kumul asked, frowning.

Lynan laughed. “I am sorry. This must be confusing for you.”

“To say the least.”

“Gudon was the pilot of the barge Prado stole. It was he who saved me from the man, and suffered great harm because of it. And Kayakun is Gudon’s contact here at the sooq.”

“Contact?” Kumul looked puzzled. “How does a barge pilot have a contact in the Strangers’ Sooq?”

“Gudon is a Chett as well.”

“Ah,” Kumul said. He still looked puzzled but asked no more questions.

Suddenly, Jenrosa gasped and reached out to touch the scar on Lynan’s jaw. “Lynan, what happened to you?”

“A present from Jes Prado,” he said.

“I’ll fillet the bastard,” Kumul said lowly.

“Come,” Kayakun said. “We must leave here. I will arrange for some of my people to clean up the alley. Captain Rendle will never know what happened to his men.”

Lynan picked up the pots. Kumul offered to take them, but Lynan refused. “It takes training to do this job properly,” he said, smiling.

Kayakun stopped at the mouth of the alley to make sure no one was keeping an eye out for them, then led the way onto the street. They had to go only a short distance before they reached one of the larger houses in the town. Instead of going through the front entrance, Kayakun took them to the back door, a solid piece of spray tree crisscrossed with iron bars. They entered a large kitchen. An iron stove along one wall warmed the room, and a long wooden table took up most of the space. Bustling servants came into the room. One took the pots from Lynan, another gathered their coats and cloaks, a third took Lynan’s tunic with Gatheras’s insignia and gave him a Chett shirt. Then Gudon appeared. He showed surprise at the unexpected crowd but quickly embraced Lynan.

“Truth, little master, did I not say you would be all right?”

“Truth,” Lynan admitted, then introduced Gudon to his companions.

“We have to thank you for looking after our friend the last few days,” Kumul said.

“It was my duty,” Gudon said simply.

For a moment the two men carefully regarded each other.

Kayakun invited them all to sit down. Servants brought clay mugs of spiced wine. Kayakun instructed them to take care of the bodies of the mercenaries in the alley. They left promptly.

“Bodies?” Gudon asked.

Kayakun quickly explained how they were followed by five mercenaries, their short conversation and the sudden appearance of Lynan’s friends.

“We were sitting in the tavern wondering how to make contact with Lynan,” Kumul explained, “when he walked by with Kayakun. Then we saw the mercenaries following them.”

Kayakun described the brief battle, taking obvious delight in the telling.

“That will leave Captain Rendle a neat puzzle,” Gudon remarked.

“So what happens next?” Kumul asked. He had vague notions about escaping at night from the sooq and heading west into the Oceans of Grass until they encountered a tribe with which they could find refuge. He hoped Lynan’s new friends could give them directions or advice about where to go.

“There is little we can do while the mercenaries are camped outside the sooq,” Gudon admitted. “But they cannot wait here forever. They must know that word of their arrival is already spreading to the tribes roaming nearby, and that a Chett war party will arrive to kill them. We remember Captain Rendle and what he and others like him did to our people before the Slave War.”

“How long before such a war party arrives?”

“We cannot be sure,” Gudon said hesitantly.

“We cannot stay here,” Kumul said. “Even if Rendle leaves, he will leave agents behind, or inform those who wish Lynan harm. He may already have done so. It isn’t safe for us here.”

“He wouldn’t ransack the sooq, would he?” Jenrosa asked.

Kayakun shook his head. “Each of these houses is like a small fort. His force is not equipped for fighting in the confined space of streets and alleys, any more than we here are equipped to got out and meet him in the field.”

“Stalemate,” Ager said.

“Unless Rendle receives reinforcements,” Kayakun said. “There could be an army on its way here now from the east.”

There was an awkward silence. Ager cleared his throat. “Just how much do you know about Lynan and the situation in Kendra?”

“Everything,” Gudon said.

“You swear allegiance to the crown of Grenda Lear, and yet you are prepared to help Lynan? That would be counted as treason among some.”

“And yet you travel with him and protect him,” Gudon said.

“That is not an answer,” Ager insisted.

Gudon sighed. “I cannot explain all here and now, but I tell you that we Chett will never forget what Elynd Chisal did for us. Prince Lynan is his son, and will always be welcome among us even though every other people in the kingdom turn their backs on him.”

Gudon and Ager locked eyes for a second, then Ager nodded stiffly. “Good enough.”

“We are still left with the question of what to do after Rendle leaves the sooq—if he leaves,” Kumul reminded them.

“There is a way you can all be safe, and none of your enemies may find you,” Gudon said. “I will guide you myself.”

“Where is this place?”

“I did not say it is a place.”

“We have little time for riddles,” Kumul said darkly.

“I am not speaking in riddles, friend of Lynan, but you will have to wait and see. I may say no more about it. You will have to trust me.”

There was another unwelcome silence, then Lynan said: “I trust you, Gudon. I will come with you.”

Gudon regarded him solemnly. “I knew you would, little master.” He glanced at Lynan’s friends. “But what of your companions?”

Before either Ager or Kumul could reply, Jenrosa said: “If Lynan trusts you, so do I.” She glared at the other two. “And so do they.”

“Well, that settles that,” Ager said.

Kayakun slapped his hands together. “How good we are all friends, especially in this troubling time. Now I suggest—”

Before he could suggest anything, one of his servants reappeared and whispered something into his ear. His face became serious. His servant made to leave, but Kayakun called him back. “Bring food for our guests.” The servant bowed and left.

Kumul’s stomach growled at the mention of food. He looked apologetically at their host. “I have not eaten properly for a long time. None of us have.”

“That will be taken care of,” Kayakun assured him. “But now something even more important than food has come up. My servant reports that Rendle and his company are moving out, and they heard from some of the merchants that his men were talking about heading north, to Haxus.” He turned to Gudon. “As soon as they have left, you must go tonight, in case Rendle changes his mind.”

Rendle followed his men out of the sooq. At the first rise he halted with Eder and Prado and looked back. “How sure are you that the boy you saw was Prince Lynan?” he asked Prado.

“Your five men never returned. That should answer your question.”

“One day I will come back to this place,” Rendle said. “I will come back with a thousand troops and raze it to the ground.”

Prado sneered. “You really think the Chetts will let you live that long?”

Rendle ignored him.

“I had best go,” Eder suggested.

“You have your men ready?”

“Yes, exactly as you instructed. Twenty-five riders.”

“When you have finished your business, come straight to Kolbee.”

Eder nodded and left.

“All you need now is for Lynan and his friends to do exactly as you want,” Prado said mockingly.

Rendle caught Prado’s gaze and held it until the other flinched and looked away. “Lynan will flee the sooq. Whatever friends he has left know there is no true safety for him down there. Every day Lynan stays increases his chances of being assassinated, or stolen away again. Only out there on the Oceans of Grass will he truly be safe.” Rendle smiled tightly. “At least, that is what they think, and that mistake will be their undoing.”

Chapter 27

Lynan felt whole for the first time since being taken by Jes Prado. Around him were his friends, including Gudon. They were all fed, all mounted on fresh horses—six mares, all sisters—and all equipped with saddle packs filled with food and water, as well as a felt gorytos for Gudon, holding a reflex bow and a quiver of arrows. Lynan had his sword back, carried all the way to the Strangers’ Sooq for him by Ager. Well, not his sword, he reminded himself, remembering how he had won it in the encounter at the ford with Kumul, but a good weapon at least. And best of all he was rid of his clothes, worn thin and encrusted with grime, dirt, blood, and sweat. Kayakun had dressed them all in Chett garb, with linen trousers and shirts, heavy ponchos and wide-brimmed sun hats made from boiled leather. The only garment he had kept, stored in one of his saddlebags, was the green coat given him by the forester Roheth and carried all this way by Ager. Lynan had to admit they must have looked a strange sight getting ready to ride out of the Strangers Sooq in the middle of the night, with Kumul’s poncho barely covering his shoulders and Ager’s looking as lopsided as a drooping flower.

The moon overhead was nearly full and cast enough light to read by, so when Lynan took Kayakun’s hand and thanked him for all his help, he could easily see the lines of concern creasing the Chett’s face. Kayakun gave the full bow the Chetts seemed so fond of. “Travel well, your Majesty.”

Kayakun said brief farewells to the rest of the group, lingering only with Gudon, who leaned over his saddle so they could talk privately.

When they were finished, Gudon turned in his saddle to face the others. “We go now, my friends. Quickly as we can for the first hour. The farther away we are from the sooq, the safer we will be.” He waved to Kayakun and spurred his horse to a trot, the others following close behind.

As they left the sooq, Gudon picked up the pace. The horses fell into a ground-eating canter, their manes fluttering like pennants.

Lynan felt he was entering a dream world. If the Oceans of Grass had captured his imagination under the light of the sun, under the light of the moon they captured his soul. It no longer seemed like a vast plain covered in grass, but a real ocean with real waves. It seemed to him they rode godlike across water, and underneath he sensed the heartbeats of great creatures, solitary and somnolent, never disturbed by the goings-on of lesser creatures. Above him, the dark sky seemed like smoked glass embedded with glittering gems. Like the ocean, the plains had surges and troughs. Gentle hills rose and disappeared as they rode by.

At last, Gudon reined back the pace and the mares happily continued at a quick walk. As both riders and mounts recaptured their breath, Lynan started to hear the sounds of the plain. There were so many crickets chirruping that the sound became a single melody; above them, he could hear the occasional hooting of an owl and the flapping, skittering wings of bats. And then the call of a kestrel. For a moment that seemed perfectly normal. Kestrels flew above all the world’s oceans.

He pulled up his horse. For a moment the others rode on, unaware he had stopped; when they noticed he was no longer with them, they halted.

“What is it?” Gudon called back to Lynan.

Lynan motioned for them all to keep silent.

And there it was again. The call of a kestrel. He had not imagined it.

“I have never heard that sound before,” Gudon said. Using his left leg to support his weight, he stood in the stirrups to survey the sky and land around them.

“And you never will away from the sea,” Jenrosa added.

Lynan caught up with them. “Rendle?” he asked.

Gudon ignored the question and kneed his horse closer to Jenrosa. “Lynan tells me you are a magicker.”

“A student magicker.”

He put his hand in one of his saddlebags and retrieved what looked like slivers of diamond. “Can you cast?”

“I know the theory,” Jenrosa said warily.

He gave the slivers to Jenrosa. “These will help, but hurry. We have not much time.”

The urgency in his voice discouraged any more questions. She held up her palm to see better what Gudon had given her. Silvery translucent wafers shone softly with moonlight. She dredged from her memory the incantation for casting; it was one of the more ludicrous series of phrases, but she closed her hand around the wafers, shut her eyes, and recited the lines. Her hand tingled, but there was no finish, that relief that flooded through her when a magic was performed properly. She breathed deeply and tried again, but with no more success. She opened her eyes and found Gudon staring straight into them.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Wait,” he ordered. He drew his short, bone knife from its sleeve behind his neck and used it to cut a long line in the palm of his hand. He placed his hand over her fist. “Now, try again.”

Jenrosa nodded, closed her eyes and started the incantation a third time. She felt the Chett’s warm blood creep over her fingers. As she recited the words they seemed to vibrate in her mind, grow in size. She opened her mouth and the words poured out like a river of water. She felt the wafers in her hand writhe and move, and would have let them go if Gudon’s own hand was not wrapped tightly around hers.

For the others, watching, nothing at all seemed to happen at first, but as the incantation grew in power and Jenrosa’s voice grew stronger, the air above her seemed to distort and waver. For an instant, Lynan thought he saw the shape of a huge wolf twist in the sky, but then the image was gone as quickly as it had formed and he convinced himself it was his imagination.

Jenrosa finished, the last word almost a shout, and a wave of exultation and exhaustion washed through her. She slumped in the saddle. Gudon held her up and forced open her palm. The wafers were all gone.

“Good. The cast was made. Help will come.” He looked up again to survey the terrain around them. “I only hope it will come in time.” He lifted Jenrosa’s head. “Are you well enough to ride?”

She nodded wearily, but to prove her point, she pulled away from him and sat erect in her saddle.

“Over there!” Kumul cried, pointing north. Between two low hillocks about halfway to the horizon they saw dark shapes flitter along the grass.

“We cannot outrun them,” Ager said darkly. “Rendle’s company are mounted on good cavalry stallions. They will chase our mares from here to the other side of Theare or drop dead in the attempt.”

“We must try!” Gudon cried. “These horses were born and bred on the Oceans of Grass, and there are no more sure-footed creatures on this world.” He flicked the reins, and his horse immediately broke into a gallop. Without urging from their riders, the other mares followed.

The wind blew in Lynan’s face, stinging his skin and making his eyes water, but his heart was filled not with fear but exhilaration. His excitement was sensed by his mount and she seemed to fly across the grass. Time seemed to stand still, and it was the world that passed under the mares’ hoofs, turning on its axis with their speed. Whenever Lynan spied the enemy, they seemed no nearer.

But the enemy was equally relentless in the hunt. Eventually time started again, the mares slowed, and the black figures pursuing them began to close. The moon, which had seemed so high and bright, now hung near the horizon and the night grew darker and colder. With his crooked fate once more catching up with him, Lynan’s exhilaration ebbed, replaced by a rising dread.

Gudon had been leading them west the whole time. Directly ahead in the distance Lynan could see a hill that rose higher above the plains than any other, and knew that the Chett must be taking them there for a last stand. He looked northward but saw no sign of the enemy. Then something made him look behind him, and there they were, slapping their horse’s flanks with the flats of their swords. He counted five of them, then ten, then more. Their war cries, filled with a terrible blood lust, reached his ears and made his skin crawl. He looked ahead again and realized they would never reach that hill, would never have a last stand. They would be struck from behind like mice fleeing a cat.

Gudon cut sideways so he could shout instructions to Jenrosa, but the wind took his words away and Lynan could not hear him. He saw Jenrosa nod, rein back enough for Lynan to draw beside her. She looped the reins around her wrist and then grasped the manes of both their horses. She quickly uttered six words. The effect was instantaneous. Their mares gained fresh energy and seemed to leap forward. They quickly overtook the other three.

“Now the others!” Lynan shouted to Jenrosa, but she did not seem to hear him. “Jenrosa, help the others!”

She looked at him, and the grief he saw in her eyes turned his heart to ice. He looked over his shoulder once more and saw Gudon, Kumul, and Ager turn their horses. For a moment they paused and he knew with utter certainty they were looking at him for one last time, then Gudon drew out his bow and fitted an arrow and the three of them turned their mounts around and charged toward the enemy, their war cries so loud the stars in the sky seemed to shake.

“No!” Lynan cried. “No!” He pulled back hard on the reins and the mare screamed as the bit jagged in her mouth. As she broke from her gallop, he started turning her around.

“No, Lynan!” Jenrosa shouted at him and grabbed for his reins. Tears filled her eyes. “There is no other way! They’ve given you your last chance! Don’t let them die in vain!”

Lynan turned on her with all his anger. “And what about you? What is your sacrifice for Prince Lynan?”

She pointed to the hill. “There is where I make my stand. What little magic I have I will use to protect you as you ride farther west. Gudon says help is on its way, and if we can slow the enemy long enough, you will reach it before they reach you.”

His anger bled away. “I don’t want you to die for me!” he cried. “I don’t want anyone to die for me anymore!”

“What makes you think the choice is yours?” she asked, her voice almost scornful. “None of us had any hand in this destiny, but Gudon and Kumul and Ager won’t fly from it, and neither will I.” She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled his face next to hers. “And if you had one tenth the courage of your father, neither would you!”

Lynan pulled away. “I don’t choose this destiny!” he shouted back at her, and kicked his horse into a gallop, back toward the enemy.

“Oh, fuck,” Jenrosa breathed and drew her sword from its saddle sheath. In her present state of mind it would probably do as much good as any magic she might raise. Her friends were going to die, and she knew with a strange satisfaction that she did not want to live without them. She waved the sword experimentally above her head. It whistled in the air. That’s a good sign, she thought, and spoke a word in her mare’s ear. The horse shook her head, whinnied, and broke into a gallop, doing its damnedest to catch her sister.

Lynan had by now drawn his own sword. He leaned hard over the saddle, the blade parallel with the horse’s head, and prayed to God his courage would hold. He saw his three friends engaged in a confusing melee with at least five of the enemy, their weapons rising and falling, their horses wheeling around each other. Another three or four of the enemy lay dead around them, all with arrows sticking from throats or eyes. More of the mercenaries were joining in as they caught up with the fight, but they were too disorganized for their greater numbers to truly tell. His friends used the enemy as shields, and their nimble mares let them maneuver more easily in the mass of stamping, champing horses.

Lynan shouted no war cry but hewed straight in. His first target was a mercenary circling the melee searching for a way to get in, and Lynan’s swinging sword caught him on the side of the head, taking off his helmet together with an ear. As he passed Lynan swung the blade back and felt it sink into the man’s face. He jerked it free and straightened his arm, pointing the sword directly to his second target, a mercenary who had already lost his helmet. He kept the hilt in line with his face, just as Kumul had taught him, and bore down on the man. Six inches of steel slid through the mercenary’s neck and spine. The collision jarred Lynan’s arm, and as he pulled the blade free from the falling enemy, he cursed himself for not bending his elbow before the sword point struck home. He had not remembered all of Kumul’s lessons.

By now more of the enemy had ridden up and, seeing Lynan, were determined to disarm and capture him. Lynan saw only one way out. Or, rather, in. There was a gap in the central mass of struggling horses and men, and he spurred his mare through it. He caught a glimpse of Kumul’s horrified face when the giant saw him, but had no time to shout a greeting. A sword seemed to come from nowhere, probably aiming for Kumul. The constable was too fast, however, and easily deflected the blow. Lynan was not fast enough, and the flat of the blade whacked him in the ear. He shouted in pain, riposted, and felt the blade strike something solid.

Another mercenary was going for Kumul, swinging a short mace above his head. Lynan twisted his horse around and lunged, sending the tip of his sword through the enemy’s armpit. The man screamed and fell, but quickly scrabbled to his feet. As Lynan was about to swipe at his face the man was knocked down by a horse. He screamed one last time as a pair of hoofs trampled his chest and head.

Lynan found himself squeezed between two mercenaries, his sword arm jammed against his side. The mercenary on his right raised his own sword and used its pommel to strike against Lynan’s skull. Lynan heaved sideways, unbalancing the man, and as he righted himself, he whipped his head forward, breaking the man’s nose with his forehead. The mercenary pulled back on his horse’s reins and was swallowed up in the melee. His sword arm free, Lynan now struck at the enemy on his left but missed. His opponent, made aware of the threat, tried to punch Lynan away, but then Ager appeared beside him. The crookback’s short sword made a single thrust and the man slumped over his saddle.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ager demanded angrily, but Lynan’s horse was carried forward in a sudden surge and he had no time to reply. He swung his sword to left and right, hitting leather armor and steel helmets, but making no effective strikes. Suddenly the area around him cleared and he found himself outside of the melee.

Two mercenaries, one with a face like a bear’s backside and the other with a scar running along his nose, saw him isolated and charged. Lynan wheeled his mount in the opposite direction, looking desperately for a way back in to the squabbling confusion and some kind of anonymity. Then someone rushed past him, holding a sword in a most unusual fashion. He heard a blade smack into flesh, and wheeled around again. Jenrosa’s mare had kept on going, taking her well away from the man whose face she had bruised, while his companion—scarface—clumsily swiped at her as she galloped by.

Lynan charged now. He drove his knee into the thigh of the man Jenrosa had attacked to keep him off balance, and at the same time brought the edge of his sword directly into the middle of the second mercenary’s face, right in line with his scar. The man had no time to scream. His blood sprayed Lynan as his horse carried him away from the battle. Lynan wheeled a third time, and rising slightly in his saddle, used all his strength to swing his blade into the neck of bear face, scooping out a wedge of muscle and tendon. The mercenary automatically opened his mouth to scream, but the air whistled uselessly through the gash in his throat. His horse reared, stumbled, and fell on top of him.

Jenrosa had gotten her horse under control and was looking for more likely targets. Lynan had no time to worry about her. He had seen another group of five mercenaries riding hard toward the fight. He knew that with their arrival the weight in numbers finally would be too great for his friends. He did not think, he just reacted. He galloped toward them, sword held out in front again. He chose the man on the left, but instead of charging in turn, the mercenaries parted, and Lynan found himself riding between them, his sword swinging at nothing but air. He wheeled around and saw the five were circling him.

One of them shouted out: “We wish you no harm, Prince Lynan. Throw down the sword and surrender!”

In response Lynan charged again, but once more they moved out of his way, then closed in around him as he pulled back.

“Then we’ll have to do this the hard way,” the same mercenary said, and nodded to his fellows.

They all rode in at the same time, holding their swords so they could use the flats of their blades. Lynan concentrated on one of them and swung for his head but missed. Then the others struck. Lynan felt steel slap into his back and both his arms, and then his right hand. His sword dropped from his numbed fingers. He tried to turn, to grab at one of the mercenary’s swords, but they eluded him, wheeling in turn to bring the flats down again, this time on his thighs and shoulders. All his muscles were locking in shock. He felt one foot come loose from his stirrup and started to fall. He grabbed for one of the enemy’s saddles and dragged himself free from the other stirrup. The mercenary whose saddle he held growled at him and brought the pommel of his sword down on Lynan’s hands.

Lynan screamed in pain and let go. He fell, hit the ground, and tumbled. He tried to scrabble to his feet, but the blades came again, belting him into submission, their horses crowding around him and barring any escape. He felt himself sliding to the ground again, drowning in a series of flashing blows. Then the attack finished, and a pair of rough hands grabbed him by the poncho; a second pair knocked his hat off his head and grabbed his hair. His whole body felt as if it had been trampled. He tried breathing in, but the air caught in his throat as pain spasmed through his chest.

He heard a high and wild scream but did not know or care where it came from or what it might mean.

To start with, Kumul was actually enjoying himself. The knowledge that he was going to die freed him to revel in his yearning to kill Lynan’s enemies, to give the boy he had loved as a son for over fifteen years the only chance he had to escape. He felt invincible. His sword passed through limbs and necks like a scythe through wheat, and when he caught a glimpse of Ager carrying out mayhem of his own, he could not help shouting his joy.

The mercenaries crowded behind him to attack without being attacked in rum, but the giant seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He countered every assault, and every time he swung his sword, it seemed to end in the scream of yet another of their fellows. As more and more of the mercenaries joined in the fray, it simply became more confusing. There were nine of them now, crowding in around the giant and the crookback and the wild Chert, but they just seemed to get in each other’s way. And then a fourth enemy appeared, small and agile with a terrible sword. They had no time to recognize the prince, but then suddenly he was gone as quickly as he had come.

For Kumul, though, Lynan’s appearance had been a terrible shock. Suddenly, the joy of battle was replaced by a terrible fear for his charge’s safety. He saw Lynan get squeezed out of the melee and tried to join him, but now the mercenaries’ numbers were too great, and he could do little more than defend himself.

Eventually, even his great strength started to ebb. He tried to break out of the mass to give himself more room to use his size more effectively, but someone always got in the way. Ager must have sensed what Kumul was trying to do, for he tried to plough a passage through the enemy using the weight of his mare, but even their combined efforts were failing.

Then Gudon shrugged off an attacker and drove into the swirling maelstrom. The enemies in front of Kumul wavered. He took his chance and charged. Just as he broke through, he saw Ager go down beneath a blow to his head. He wheeled around again, but then from the corner of his eye saw Lynan surrounded by five mercenaries. He hesitated, and in that moment two of the enemy rushed at him. Gudon moved quickly to take down the first, but the second got through and Kumul wasted precious seconds disposing of him. He quickly glanced around him. Ager was still in his saddle and, despite blood streaming down the inside of his hat from a savage cut to his crown, his sword was still in action.

Gudon swung by Kumul, shouting, “Go! Save Lynan!” then disappeared again. More mercenaries were peeling off from the main battle to take on the giant, but Kumul wheeled his horse around and charged the group circling Lynan. He saw with despair that the prince was unhorsed, and that the swords of the enemy were rising and falling like the arms of a windmill. He heard a scream of hate and fury, and suddenly another rider entered the fray around Lynan. He recognized Jenrosa, using her sword like a whip, thrashing from one side to the other. Her blows did little damage, but temporarily scattered the mercenaries.

The giant had time to see Lynan collapse to the ground, and then he was within striking distance of the first enemy. He brought his sword down in a crashing blow that took off the man’s arm. Kumul pushed past him to get to the next mercenary. He did not have time to raise his arm for another swing, so drove his sword’s hilt into an eye. The man fell away from him, crying in pain and shock. Kumul saw Jenrosa get off her horse and try to lift Lynan on to her saddle, but she was not strong enough.

Fearing the worst, he circled behind her and reached down for Lynan, grabbed him by the back of his poncho and with one mighty heave lifted the prince across the neck of Jenrosa’s horse. Jenrosa leaped back into her saddle, but before she could ride away the surviving mercenaries who had tried to take Lynan reformed and attacked again, two taking on Kumul and the third going for Jenrosa. Kumul killed one easily, but the other knew what he was doing, merely parrying Kumul’s assault and not trying to close in for his own attack.

Jenrosa tried to defend herself as best she could against her opponent, but the mercenary easily got by her guard and stabbed her in the thigh. She stifled her cry and wheeled around, trying to keep her horse’s head between them, but the maneuver made her lose her grip on Lynan and he slipped to the ground. The mercenary gave a shout of triumph and pressed home his attack, forcing Jenrosa away from the prince. Even though she parried as best she could, she knew she was about to die. Strangely, she did not feel afraid, only angry that she had failed to save Lynan.

Kumul saw her predicament and could do nothing to help. Every time he turned, his opponent, the most skillful he had ever met, was there in front of him again, blocking his way and blocking his every attack. In desperation, Kumul flicked his sword in the air, caught it underhand, and threw it like a spear. The mercenary recoiled in shock and batted the sword away, but Kumul had the second he needed. He punched the mercenary in the face. The man’s eyes crossed and his jaw opened. Even as he started to slide backward off his horse, Kumul reached for his knife and drove it into the bottom of the mercenary’s throat, stapling his jaws. Blood spat out between the man’s teeth. Kumul pushed him aside and slid half out of his saddle to retrieve his sword. He propped himself back up and looked for Jenrosa, then saw he would be too late to help her. Jenrosa had been dismounted. She was on one knee, and her opponent was raising his sword for a killing stroke.

And then someone behind the rider reached up, grabbed him by his breeches, and hauled him off. The pair collapsed to the ground. Kumul saw the mercenary getting to his feet, and Lynan, too weakened by his last effort to get out of the way, half crouching on the ground. The enemy gave a terrible shout of rage, lifted his sword, and brought it down. Even as the edge of the blade struck Lynan on the back, the point of Kumul’s sword appeared magically in the mercenary’s chest. The force of Kumul’s charge lifted the man into the air, wriggling on the blade like a speared fish. Blood blossomed on his chest and spilled out of his mouth. Kumul whipped the sword down, dropping the mercenary on the ground, then jumped off his horse and ran to Lynan.

Jenrosa was already there, screaming and screaming, blood all over her as she cradled Lynan’s body in her lap. Kumul knelt down beside them, his heart beating so hard he thought it might explode. Lynan was deathly white, but no blood seeped between his lips. He quickly took the prince from Jenrosa’s arms and turned him over. The cut was deep, but the flesh was red, and he saw no bone or fat. He knew, though, that if they could not stop the bleeding, Lynan would certainly die.

And then he remembered the others. He saw Ager and Gudon, their horses side by side, their arms slowing with exhaustion but still managing to parry every blow, surrounded by eight mercenaries closing in with the scent of victory in their noses.

“Press your hands against his wound,” he ordered Jenrosa. “I’ll be back.”

He ran to his horse and mounted, and with one last effort of will managed to get the mare to work up to a gallop. The horse got half the distance and suddenly collapsed underneath him. He fell to the ground, somersaulted, and was on his feet again. He started running, desperately hoping he could get there in time, but he felt as if he was running in sand.

Then one of the mercenaries pulled back from the melee around Ager and Gudon, and then a second. They turned their horses around and fled. Soon they were joined by a third, and one by one the others peeled off and turned tail. Kumul stopped in wonder, then something long and dark and feathered pierced the back of the last man and he fell from his saddle. Kumul looked at Gudon, but his bow was still in its gorytos.

Suddenly a group of new riders appeared, bows and arrows in their hands, reins held in their mouths, in hot pursuit of the mercenaries. They loosed a flight of arrows, and then another flight and another until all the fleeing mercenaries had been toppled from their mounts, each impaled by a black shaft.

Lynan swam in a sea of agony. Every time he took a breath, he felt his chest and back ripple with pain. He knew his eyes were open because he could see stars, and sometimes the blur of a face. He heard sounds, too, cries and shouts, the stamping of hoofs. Later, hands gently moved him one way, and then the other. More faces appeared. He thought he heard Jenrosa shouting at him, then Kumul. Why were they so angry with him? He felt someone attempt to lift him. He tried to tell them to go away. He hurt too much. Why could they not leave him alone? He was sure if he could just have some peace and quiet, he would fall asleep and everything would be all right. Then he heard Pirem’s voice. No, that could not be right. Pirem was back in Kendra. Then where was he? He was lifted again and he felt himself carried away by new waves of pain.

The ocean. What was it about the ocean? He had to remember. It was important. He did not want to drown. He just wanted to sleep.

And then all was still again, although he could still sense movement. Figures passed him, and the legs of horses. He looked up into the sky and saw that the stars were going out. He wanted to close his eyes, and discovered that they were already closed.

I am asleep, he thought. At last, I am asleep.

Chapter 28

Areava blinked in the sudden rush of light as she moved from the chapel and saw a sea of faces before her. There was a pause, a moment’s stillness, and then the cheering started, first from her nobles and officers and the Royal Guards, and then moving back along the entire crowd like a wave rippling along a pond. It became tumultuous, joyous, and it carried her heart up into the sky. Her people, her subjects, her kingdom.

Kestrels danced in the air, and the kestrel pennant of the Rosethemes fluttered from every flagpole in the palace and the city. She raised the two Keys in her possession and they glinted in the bright sunlight, the Key of the Scepter which gave her the right to rule, and the Key of the Sword, which gave her the right to defend her kingdom come what may and with whatever means at her disposal.

Olio took her hand, and Dejanus and Orkid took their position behind her. She walked slowly down the steps to the forecourt, preceded by the court sergeant holding King Thebald’s ornate Sword of State. The cheering continued, and now she could hear the clapping, the singing, and the blessings coming from her people. Nobles and ambassadors, subject monarchs and guild leaders, priests and malefici, joined in the procession as it moved past them. She left the palace and started the long walk through the capital, the avenue crammed with people kept back by the Royal Guards. As she passed, guards peeled away and used back streets to get to their new positions farther down in the city. She tried to keep a stately pace, but she was so filled with her own joy she wanted to pick up her skirts and run.

Children slipped through the guards and threw flowers at her. She laughed with them. Old women and men reached for her hand, and she gave it to them. Soldiers and peasants and brewers and potters and cloth makers and magickers all called her name, and she smiled at them, each and every one.

When she reached the old quarter near the harbor, people were hanging from second-story windows and looking almost directly down on the queen. They released ribbons in the gold-and-black Rosetheme colors. They drifted, fluttered and whirled down like windblown thistle, covering her hair and dress. She laughed and waved back at them, kissed their ribbons, blessed them in turn. She was so happy tears came to her eyes.

At last the procession reached the harbor itself. A squadron of her warships, their decks polished so highly they shone, their hulls freshly painted, and the kestrel pennant whipping from their masts, waited there. When Areava appeared, the crews, lined along the decks and standing on every mast, cheered so loud the windows in nearby buildings rattled. Seagulls escaped into the sky. She made her way, alone, to a dais built up in front of the ships and on which was perched a solitary chair, plain and unadorned. She reached the chair and turned around. This was the climax of her coronation, and when the cheering finally died, every person was on their knee, their heads bowed almost to the ground.

Everything was still. Time waited.

“You are my people,” Areava declared in her strongest voice, the words ringing across the water. “And I will always be your queen. Nothing shall come between us. I live to serve this mighty kingdom of Grenda Lear, all its inhabitants, and its destiny.”

She sat down, and the cheering started all over again. Olio climbed the dais, knelt before his sister and laid his forehead on her knee. “Indeed, sister, you are our queen, and none would have it otherwise.”

She leaned over and kissed his head. “We have come through much since the deaths of our mother and two brothers, sweet Olio, but now things are as they should be.” He looked up into her eyes and saw happiness and solemnity there. “It seems to me that the world, once again, is aright.”

Jes Prado teetered from the tent, a leather bottle in one hand, and crisscrossed his way across the camp. A guard watched his progress with cruel amusement. He managed to reach the middens without accident, but as he fumbled with his belt, he lost his balance and tipped forward into the piss trench. There was a loud squelching sound and the mercenary disappeared from sight. The guard laughed hard and long, only stopping when he saw his sergeant leave his tent to start his inspection round. He forgot about the drunk Prado and straightened his jerkin.

Prado, now out of sight, threw away the bottle and made his way on hands and knees from the piss trench to the horse park. He chose the quietest stallion and untethered him from his post, then quietly, cautiously, led him into the darkness. When he could no longer hear the sounds of the camp, he mounted, and using his knees against the stallion’s ribs and his hands in his mane urged him along the dangerous road back to Hume.

He had waited to escape for as long as possible, but had risked being caught this night because Rendle’s increasingly unpredictable anger terrified him. Ever since reaching the border of Haxus, Rendle had been waiting for word from Eder, but none ever came. He refused to accept that his trusted-lieutenant had failed him, and although the news about Lynan’s existence and approximate whereabouts would win him favor in King Salokan’s eyes, he was furious that the young prince had once again slipped through his fingers.

Prado knew that his own life was now worth nothing to Rendle, and if he did not escape would soon meet a convenient accident. Besides, if Rendle could sell his information to Salokan, then Prado could sell it to Areava.

He looked up into the sky, bright and remote, and wished he was a bird and could fly all the way home. He sighed. He was only a man, a lonely man cut off from friends and allies, and the road ahead would be as dangerous going back as it had been getting here. But he would manage it. He had news for the new queen. He looked back at Rendle’s camp for the last time.

And a score to settle he thought. Watch for me, Captain Rendle. I will come back for you one day, and cut off your head.

Jenrosa entered the hide hut and immediately felt ill with the heat. A central fire, surrounded by white stone and fed by dung, burned brightly. Next to it lay a heap of woolen hides, and on top of the heap lay Lynan, unconscious and shivering. His fever had lasted five days so far and gave no sign of easing. His skin was yellow and his face—once so full and boyish—was scarred and gaunt with pain. Kumul was sitting next to him. At first, she thought he was praying, but then she heard the name of Elynd Chisal. She moved a step closer and listened.

“So when your father was murdered, you see, I took you as my son. Nothing formal, of course. I mean, a soldier doesn’t tell the queen how to look after her own child, but I was going to make sure you were brought up right, just like the general would have wanted.” Kumul’s words thickened and the giant man stopped to clear his throat. He ran a hand through his short, graying hair. “But here you are, you see, all in a heap, and the Chetts don’t have any medicine or magic to heal you because you’re wounded so bad. So what I’m saying is that you have to do this by yourself. I can’t help you anymore. No one can. But I’m not letting go, understand. I’m not going to let you just die, lad. So I’m going to talk to you. You hear my words and follow them back.”

Jenrosa crouched down next to Kumul, gingerly moving her bandaged leg so it rested straight. Kumul’s eyes were red, and he held Lynan’s right hand in both of his. Jenrosa lay her own hands on Kumul’s.

“There’s nothing for it,” he said hoarsely.

Jenrosa touched Lynan’s forehead. It was damp and cold, despite the heat. “You should get some rest. I will stay with him.”

“You are a magicker…” he started hopefully, looking into her eyes.

She saw her own pain and grief reflected there. She shook her head. “I really was only a student, Kumul. I know some tricks, some simple spells and incantations, but what Lynan needs is beyond my power, or beyond the power of any magicker I know of.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to let him die,” he said fiercely.

She rested her head against Lynan’s chest. His heartbeat was slow and faint. At that moment, if she could have given her life for his, she would have done so.

It would be a fair exchange, she thought, hoping a god somewhere was listening. My life means something to me now. It would be a sacrifice.

But Lynan needed something stronger than her life, she told herself. His ghost has traveled so it can probably see the dead. If only he hadn’t lost so much blood.

She blinked. Blood. The source of all life. She was chasing down a dim memory and when she caught it she gasped at the implications. Her eyes opened wide with sudden fear. Did she dare? It might kill him, and yet…

She looked at his pale body again, the wasting flesh, and understood she had no choice. She struggled to her feet and limped out of the tent. With a puzzled frown, Kumul watched her go. Gudon was sitting with Ager on the grass outside of the hut. They looked up at her, their eyes afraid.

“He’s not… ?” Ager asked, but could not finish the question.

“No, but he will be soon if we don’t do something.” She looked around, but could not see what she needed. “Where are Lynan’s saddlebags?”

“What?”

“For God’s sake, Ager! His saddlebags! Where are Lynan’s saddlebags?”

“In our hut,” he replied. “What do you want them for?”

Jenrosa ignored the question and turned to Gudon. “Get them for me, and some of your potion.”

“The haethu will no longer work,” Gudon objected. “His wounds are too great—”

“Just get them!” she shouted into his face, and limped back to the tent.

A moment later Ager and Gudon entered the tent. Gudon gave her the saddlebags and a small flask of haethu. She searched through one saddlebag, chucking its contents onto the floor, but did not find what she was looking for.

“Oh, damn, damn, damn!” she cried, and opened the second saddlebag, again discarding its contents like a thief searching for coins. Then she pulled out the forester’s coat. She searched its pockets and pulled out a soiled piece of green cloth. “Thank God!”

The others looked at her mystified.

“What are you doing?” Kuraul asked.

They watched her open the stop to the haethu flask, then use a knife to scrape something dark stuck to the cloth into its mouth.

“What is it?” Gudon asked. “What are you doing?”

“Saving Lynan’s life.” She looked up at them and they could see how desperate, and how afraid, she was. “Blood for blood, ” she said.

She put her thumb over the mouth and shook the flask vigorously. The contents turned a deep ruby red. She edged over to Lynan, parted his lips, and slowly let the contents of the flask trickle down his throat.

When the flask was empty, she sat back, and the others watched expectantly.

“If this works, it may take a while,” Jenrosa told them. Even as she finished the sentence, Lynan made a strange whining sound. His muscles went rigid, his back arched. His mouth opened and he screamed. Jenrosa and the others looked on in shock.

Lynan collapsed back on the hides, still again.

“Oh, please, God, don’t let me have killed him,” Jenrosa whimpered.

Ager leaned over and put his ear against Lynan’s chest. “He is still alive.” His eyes widened. “The heart is beating stronger!” He stared at Jenrosa. “What have you done?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Saved his life!” Kumul said enthusiastically, and picked the magicker up in his arms and swung her around. When he put her down he kissed her, suddenly and unexpectedly. For a moment their eyes met and they both blushed. “You have saved his life,” Kumul repeated.

Or taken his soul, Jenrosa thought to herself, her feelings more confused than they had ever been before.

Chapter 29

Areava found solitude in her chambers. She had chased out her ladies-in-waiting and their chattering formality, her secretary and his obsequious formality, and the guards and their solemn formality. She was by herself and awake, completely and blissfully, for the first time since… she could not remember for how long. Her lover was with the ambassador from Aman, giving him letters for his father, King Marin. Olio had disappeared from the palace again; she decided she would have to look into that; she did not want anything happening to him.

Most of the guests from the provinces who had come for the coronation had now departed Kendra, and life in the city, after days of celebrations, was returning to normal. The members of the Twenty Houses, all her uncles and aunts and cousins to the sixth degree, had behaved themselves admirably during the coronation, and even took her announced engagement to Sendarus with equanimity. The provincials had been overjoyed at the news, of course. One of their own, in a manner of speaking, was marrying into the royal family. They probably all left the capital thinking if King Marin could pull off such a coup, maybe their children or grandchildren could marry into the next generation of Rosethemes. The thought amused and excited her. It was about time Grenda Lear became a kingdom in fact as well as in name, rather than simply the means of benefiting a select few in Kendra.

She patted her belly. She was sure she was not pregnant yet but was confident she would be sometime in the next year. She wanted a daughter. She would be happy with a son, but most of all she wanted a daughter. What would she call her? Usharna, of course. And if it was a boy? Berayma? Olio? Sendarus or Marin? She grimaced. Never, never, Lynan. That name would be expunged from the royal family for all time.

She went out on her balcony. The white stone of the palace turned gold in the setting sun. A beacon for the most distant ships, she thought. A symbol for the most distant lands. An onshore breeze picked up the Rosetheme pennant on every flagpole and the black kestrel on each one seemed to take flight.

She heard a scuffle in the corridor outside. The guards had detained someone. Then she heard Harnan’s voice explaining that the queen was busy with other duties and could see no one. A man’s voice spoke out: he had urgent news. His name was Prado and he had urgent news.

Probably about Haxus, Areava thought, and smiled to herself. Harnan had been right all those weeks ago. The work never finished, not really. And then she remembered Olio’s words as well, and felt proud that perhaps she was becoming more and more like her mother.

She walked with confidence to the great door of her chamber and pushed it open. Harnan looked up surprised. Next to him, still held by a guard, was the scruffiest, dirtiest man Areava had ever seen. His eyes met hers and she read something in them, but something she could not yet decipher.

She smiled at Harnan. “I am queen to all my people, good Secretary. I will be pleased to listen to this man’s news.”

“Mainly children this week, Your Highness,” Father Lukaz said.

Olio parted the curtain with one finger and looked out over the ward. All seven beds were occupied, only two with adults in them.

“Your Highness,” said the magicker behind him, “none of them is seriously ill. These do not need your attention.” He was under strict instructions from Edaytor Fanhow not to let Prince Olio exhaust himself on cases that were not a matter of rife and death.

Olio tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “I cannot let the children suffer,” he said. “We will wait until they are asleep and then I will treat them.”

Father Lukaz and the magicker exchanged worried glances, then the priest led the prince back to the kitchen. He put fresh bread and wine on the table, and a platter of ham, cheese, and onions. Olio looked at the food but decided he was not hungry. The wine would help, though. He filled a goblet and drank it quickly. The alcohol burned in his thin frame, and he felt better. He could feel the Key of Healing resting warm against his chest.

Soon, he promised it. The children are still awake. We can do our duty soon.

Gudon held him by the hand and led him from the tent. Lynan closed his eyes against the bright light until someone placed one of the broad-rimmed Chett hats on his head. The light still hurt a little, but if he squinted, the pain was bearable. There was a cooking fire nearby and he had to fight the temptation to flee the yellow flames. It was something he would have to get used to.

He looked around him. He saw Kumul, Jenrosa, and Ager with his bandaged head, standing nearby, smiling and concerned, and he felt so much affection for them it almost brought him to tears. Then he saw the Chetts. Hundreds of them, all bowing to him, their heads tilted up so they could see him. There was one Chett, however, who did not bow so low. She regarded him with a strange mixture of fear and what he thought might be hope. She smiled slightly, bowed a little deeper, and Lynan nodded to her. Gudon had told him her name, but he could not remember it. Indeed, he could remember little of anything since waking from his terrible dream.

Gudon let go of his hand. Lynan held it up for a moment, wondering at its hard paleness, like ivory. He walked forward a dozen paces, taking it slowly, getting used to the heat of the sun high overhead. He surveyed the land around him, and found the sight of the plains filled him with a joy he could not explain. I am home, he thought, and then: It is time.

“My name is Lynan Rosetheme,” he said, his voice weak, but in the still air his words carried to everyone. “I am the son of Queen Usharna Rosetheme and General Elynd Chisal. I possess the Key of Union. I am come to you.”

All at once the Chetts started calling his name. The sound—a great ululation—rose into the sky and spread across the Oceans of Grass. Its faintest echoes reached every city and town and village on the continent of Theare, and reached the ear of every king and every queen of Grenda Lear, and to them it sounded at the same time like the whisper of a lover’s promise and the hissing of an enemy’s curse.

Lynan was alive.