Oathblood Read online

  Without being asked, Jadrie brought in a leather pail full of snow, and tucked it into the corner to thaw, then took one of the outside positions. Tarma took the other, putting Kethry into the “protected” position between them—but then Warrl wriggled into the tent, somehow getting into the available space (what there was of it) and put himself between Jadrie and the tent wall. Kethry gave each of them a strip of dried meat and a piece of hard journey bread; they ate in silence and warmth and passed the waterskin back and forth until the thirst roused by salt-dried meat and bricklike bread was gone. Kethry extinguished the glow of the tent poles, and the silence seemed even deeper.

  Then Kethry took a deep breath, and Tarma knew she was going to say something.

  “You’ve been quiet, you’ve kept up, you’ve obeyed orders, and when you’ve said something, it’s been sensible,” the mage said softly into the darkness, and all of them knew which “you” was meant. “You’ve been a help instead of a hindrance.”

  “Thank you,” Jadrie said in a small voice.

  “I’m not gladyou’re here, kitten—and all you have to do is think back on the ambush to know why.” Her voice broke a little. “The idea that something like that could happen to you has me in knots. You’re only a child. You aren’t supposed to be seeing things like that.”

  Tarma heard Jadrie swallow, then she said, “But—I already have. How can we be sheltered when we’re your children?”

  “She’s got you there, Greeneyes,” Tarma said dryly.

  “I promise, I promise, that unless you tell me to do otherwise, when we find these people, I’m going to stay far enough behind that I can run if I have to.” Jadrie paused and then said, in a new and tearful voice, “But you have to promise that you won’t let anything like that happen to you!”

  It was almost a wail, and Kethry caught her daughter up in her arms, as Tarma grabbed a free hand and squeezed it.

  “I can promise we’ll try, kitten,” Kethry said, in a voice nearly as hoarse as Tarma’s.

  And with that, they all sought uneasy sleep, and were exhausted enough to find it.

  When you’re sick, riding in a wagon is really a bad idea. By the time darkness fell, the seeds they’d eaten had taken full effect, and Kira really did feel sick; her stomach churned, there was a fat lump in her throat that kept making her gag, and her mouth felt sour and dry. In fact, she wasn’t sure now that she could manage to keep her nausea under control much longer, which could make things really nasty in there. When the wagon stopped, she pounded on the door, and put desperation into her voice.

  “Please!” she wailed, and fought back the nausea. “Let us out! We’re sick!”

  Footsteps creaked on snow just outside the door. “What do you mean, sick?” asked a suspicious voice from the other side.

  “Please! I’m going to throw up!” she gulped, beginning to retch a little in spite of herself, and the door opened immediately.

  “If you’re faking—” the man began, but had no further chance to say anything, for Kira couldn’t control her heaving stomach anymore, and threw up at his feet. He jumped back just in time to avoid being splattered, cursing.

  “I‘m—sorry—” She clapped her hand over her mouth, as tears rolled down her face from the pain of her bruised stomach muscles. He kicked snow over the mess and lifted her and Meri out with surprising care, seeing as she’d almost thrown up on him. Maybe he just didn’t want to have to dodge the mess again.

  I don’t think he’s angry, though....

  “Please—” Meri gasped. “—where?”

  He pointed, and they ran for the bushes at the side of the camp, where they rid themselves of the dreadful little seeds, and everything else that was in their stomachs. Both of them were chilled, shaking and weak when they finished. Kira filled her mouth over and over with snow, spitting it out again to rid herself of that awful taste, and Meri did the same. Her hands shook, her head ached, and her stomach muscles were so sore she wanted to just lie down in the snow and never get up again. But she did, even though her knees threatened to collapse as she helped her twin to her feet. No one asked if they were all right, or came to help them.

  But no one kept them from going to the fire instead of the wagon either, and they huddled together as close to the warmth as they could, eyes half-closed, holding hands. Surely the way they looked now would keep anyone from thinking they had it in them to try and escape. But now that the seeds were gone, every passing moment brought a little more relief and strength.

  In spite of the—now ebbing—nausea, Kira saw quite a bit behind her eyelashes. They were on a road, or rather, in a camp just off of a road, so it was a good thing that she’d been dropping silk and beads all along. And there were about twenty men in this group, which seemed like an awful lot to kidnap two little girls.

  The man who’d let them out came over and poked Kira with his toe. “Hey, why’re you sick?” he asked gruffly. He didn’t seem unkind; in fact, there was some concern on his unshaven face. Although he wasn’t anyone she would have picked for a friend, she sensed they might have a reluctant ally.

  It was Meri who answered. “A lot of the students were sick before we left,” she replied in a thin and weak-sounding voice. “I didn’t think we’d get it, but I guess we did.” She shivered and said in a half-moan, “I feel awful. I want to go home!”

  “I told you there was nothing to worry about. It’s just some childish ailment, and it will pass off in a day or so.” The irritated voice out of the dark beyond the fire was a new one, and had an odd accent. Kira didn’t place it, but Meri did.

  She put her head down on Kira’s shoulder, and pressed her mouth up near Kira’s ear, as if she couldn’t hold her head up any longer. “Jkathan,” she whispered, a mere thread of sound.

  The man who’d helped them seemed to feel a little sorry for them now; he hovered over them both for a moment, then went a few paces off and returned with a huge fur rug—a bit motheaten and bare in patches, but warm. He wrapped it around both of them, and actually tucked it in awkwardly.

  “I don’t s‘pose you want anything to eat?” he asked. “Beans ain’t done, but they’re cooking in broth, you could have a bowl of that an’ bread.”

  Kira’s gorge rose at the mere thought of eating, and she shook her head as violently as she dared. Right now, though, she’d have traded every valuable she had ever owned for a mug of willow tea for her aching head.

  “Just sit there an’ get warm, an’ when you wanta sleep, take the rug into the wagon with you. I don’ need it,” he said gruffly, and left them alone.

  There was a pot on the fire in front of them, which Kira’s nose told her was the one that held the broth and some simmering beans; next to the fire was a stack of journeybread, and a stack of bowls beside it. Good; the little seeds wouldn’t stand out in a pot of beans. Hopefully, before they got chased into the wagon, her stomach would settle and she could slip the seeds into the pot under cover of getting bowls of broth for herself and Meri. If this was a camp like any other, the beans were for breakfast, as it would take that long for them to soften in the cooking enough to eat.

  Meanwhile, she and Meri pretended to doze as sick children do, and she watched as much of the camp as she could see without moving her head. Slowly, her stomach settled; slowly her headache went away. The cold air helped, and so did the fact that they weren’t moving anymore.

  Although these men were dressed roughly, they didn’t act like anything other than a well-trained group, accustomed to working together—so the shabby clothing they had over their armor must have been a disguise. Three of them quickly put up a small but luxurious tent, got coals from the fire for a brazier to heat it, and brought in a generous amount of bedding, before arranging their own bedding beside the fire. Kira got a brief look at the tent’s owner before he went inside and laced the door shut; he wasn’t shabbily dressed, and she thought he was the owner of the Jkathan accent.

  The rest of the men seemed to relax a little when he we
nt inside his own little quarters, though they studiously ignored the girls’ presence. Some of them had been hurt in the fight, and they took this opportunity to get each other bandaged properly. Kira was obscurely grateful that she hadn’t known any of her own guards; it would have been horrible to sit there watching these people patch themselves up, while wondering which of them had been the murderer of someone she knew.

  Some of the men went out of the camp and didn’t come back—they had gone out on guard duty, Kira was fairly certain, which made it less likely that she and Meri could slip away under cover of darkness. And even if we did, where would we go? I don’t know where we are, and neither does Meri. You’ve got to know your territory before you can hide easily, or find help.

  Some of the men dipped out bowls full of broth to soak their bread in and sat down on their bedding to alternate broth-dipped bread with bites of dried meat. They didn’t seem inclined to talk much, not even with their fellows; as soon as they finished their abbreviated meals, they crawled into their bedrolls and were soon snoring. Kira wondered how they could sleep so easily after the awful fight, after killing and being wounded. Shouldn’t they be staring up at the sky, sleepless, or haunted by nightmares?

  Maybe they don’t care anymore.

  The thought was too horrible, and she resolutely put it away. Feeling bad wasn’t going to fix anything right now. What she and Meri needed do was to get their own plan in motion, to slow their captors down. Maybe in the process, they’d find an opportunity to escape. “Want to go back to the wagon?” Kira whispered. “I’m feeling better.”

  “I could eat broth and bread—if you were thinking of that.” Meri squeezed her hand to show that she remembered the plan for Kira to doctor their kidnappers’ food. “I’ll take the robe back to the wagon, if you can bring food for both of us.”

  One of the men roused from sleep and watched them as they got up, but lost interest when they crept about with all the symptoms of still being ill and weak. Meri dragged the heavy robe back to the wagon and climbed inside; Kira feigned equal weakness and wobbled toward the fire.

  She was afraid that the helpful fellow would show up and dip out the broth for her, but evidently he was on guard duty, and the only men still awake looked pointedly away from her. Maybe their consciences were bothering them—here were these two poor little girls, obviously sick, who should have been at home in bed, not dragged about in a prison-wagon. That only made her subterfuge easier, and she whispered a little prayer of thanks as she made the most of her opportunity. The seeds were in a drawstring bag that matched one of Meri’s dresses and had been meant to hang on her belt. The bag was up her sleeve, and she’d already unfastened the mouth of it. As she dipped out the second bowl of broth, a steady stream of seeds poured out of her sleeve into the pot, the splashing they made covered neatly by the noises she made dipping out the broth. She made sure to take enough bread to hide in the wagon for breakfast—they would not want to share those beans, and could easily feign an attack of nausea to cover their disinterest in food. Once the caravan got back underway, they could eat the bread without fear of discovery.

  She handed the food to Meri and climbed into the wagon herself, pleased to discover that Meri had taken the clothing in their packs and made a kind of nest out of it. “Hide most of that bread,” she whispered, as she got in beside her sister and took back her bowl. “We’ll need it for tomorrow.”

  She tasted her broth, and wished for Devid Cook; it wasn’t horrible, but it was very flat, unseasoned, probably made by boiling unsalted dried meat. The joumeybread wasn’t any better, but when the bread was soaked in the broth it made a palatable mush that was warm, and it was probably better for their tender stomachs than real food would have been.

  After that, there didn’t seem anything more to do but sleep, so they curled up around each other to share the warmth of their bodies, and somehow, in spite of all the horrible things that had happened to them, they fell quickly and dreamlessly into sleep.

  It wasn’t even dawn when the camp roused and the men began packing things up, and not at all quietly either. There was a lot of cursing, groaning—wounds had probably stiffened in the night, and so had muscles. Horses stamped and complained, harness jingled, but all of the sounds were very brisk and businesslike. They probably aren’t taking any chances that someone might follow, Kira thought muzzily. They want to get as far away from the ambush as possible. The farther they are, the less likely that anyone will connect them to it.

  Their helper poked his face into the wagon door just at that moment. “Need the bushes?” he asked. He looked friendlier today, and Kira found herself hoping he hadn’t been part of the ambush. She didn’t want to hate him.

  They nodded, and he helped them out of the wagon again, then took them over to the side of the camp and pointed to some very thick evergreen bushes a little shorter than they were. “Keep your heads in sight, one of you, anyway,” was all he said; they took the hint, went to the other side and relieved themselves quickly. At least he hadn’t made them take care of it while he watched.

  They continued to feign weakness and sickness as he escorted them back to the wagon. “Want breakfast? You won’t get another chance till we stop, and that won’t be until dark,” he told them, and both of them shook their heads violently. “Right, then. In you go.” Rather than wait for them to climb into the wagon, he picked each of them up in turn and left them on the floor. “Here—” He dropped in a waterskin beside them. “Got stomach troubles, you can’t let yourself get all dried out. Drink that a bit at a time. Try and sleep; the less noise you make, the better off you’ll be. He doesn’t want any trouble, and he’s not one to cross.”

  Then he closed the door, and once again, closed in the cold darkness, they heard the bar drop across it outside.

  Well, this time at least we have food and water, that nice fur robe, and we’ve padded the floor. She didn’t want to risk making any conversation that might be overheard, so she curled back up in the still-warm fur robe and after a moment of hesitation, Meri curled up beside her. She shoved their padding aside until she found the chink in the floor by the thin, weak light that came up through it, and got the knife, the paper cone, the bits of white silk, and the silver beads out of hiding.

  Then they waited, listening to the sounds of the men moving around the camp outside. Some of them were speaking a language Kira didn’t know, but Meri nodded when she looked askance at her sister. Jkathan, then. So why have jkathans kidnapped us? It was all a frustrating puzzle.

  Finally there were the sounds of jingling harness and horses’ hooves, and the wagon moved as at least two horses were hitched up to it. There hadn’t been a driver’s seat on the front of what was essentially a plain box, so Kira decided that the kidnappers must be controlling the horses with one man riding on the near-side beast. That was the way that prison-wagons were often harnessed so that the prisoners inside would not get a chance to kill the driver; it would make sense for their kidnappers to use a prison-wagon to hold them. There was no chance they would be able to break out of it, and nothing for them to use as a weapon inside. As for getting attention or help from strangers, most people avoided prison-wagons like a curse, and if anyone did hear screaming and calling from one, they’d ignore it, even if it sounded like children were doing the screaming. There were plenty of ways a child could end up in a prison-wagon, all of them perfectly good reasons to lock such a child up. Madness, for one, which would make it highly unlikely that anything they shouted would be heeded or believed.

  Well, she didn’t need to make any trouble for their captors in here—she’d already made enough out there. If everyone ate at least some of the beans, in a couple of candlemarks, they’d start to feel the effects.

  We only ate two seeds each, and there must have been dozens, maybe hundreds, in that bag. But they were cooking all night, and that might have weakened the brew. Or would it have concentrated? I wish I knew more about these things.

  Finally the wa
gon lurched forward and bumped onto the frozen surface of the road. Meri got the journeybread out of hiding and offered her some. They shared the waterskin between them, but drank sparingly ; neither of them doubted that their captor had been telling the truth, and that there would be no stops until nightfall.

  Well, no planned stops.

  When she’d finished her tasteless chunk of bread, she laid the patch of floor bare, and under cover of the fur, began dropping beads and bits of silk to the road below. If the seeds affected their kidnappers at the same rate she and Meri had been affected, right about noontime things would start to get interesting.

  In the uncertain light of false dawn they woke and packed everything up hastily. Warrl had recovered his strength completely, and was ready to go before they were, so he took the opportunity to run down a bunny for his breakfast. They were back on the trail before true dawn.

  As Tarma had bleakly expected, the trail dead-ended on the traderoad, which had thawed and refrozen, leaving an unreadable, hard, rutted surface. There was no trace of the wagon or the horses they’d been following. Even Warrl couldn’t get a scent on a surface like that.

  That would have been all right, since with Need to guide them, they knew which direction to go, but they hadn’t gone a league before the road split into three, all of them going south. Pick the wrong one, and their quarry would get so far ahead they’d never catch up. She sat and swore, silently, staring at the damned triple-fork, as Warrl scouted ahead on the frozen surface, hoping for a trace of scent or some other miracle to give them a clue.

  Then, beyond expectation, the miracle occurred.

  :Mindmate!: the kyree called excitedly. :Here, the middle road! I have a patch of Kira’s and Meri’s scent!:

  Now Tarma swore happily. “Warrl has a scent!” she called to the other two, and sent her mare loping down the uneven surface as they followed the kyree.