Pathways Page 8

  Fearing Arif’s doubt, she begged, “Hurry!” The heaviness strangling her faculties was no quirk of her imagination. “Do you hear the quiet? We’re being hunted. Lark’s saddlecloth carries a poisonous taint. Something unspeakably ugly may happen if one of you Heralds should touch it.”

  Arif did not hesitate. “All right. My saddle goes on Lark.”

  “No time.” Kaysa tried to prod him along, surprised by an arm slighter than the gruff voice suggested. “I’ll stay astride somehow.” Though Goddess help them all if she failed. A misstep at this pass would be fatal.

  Movement to the left pressed the scratchy sensation of wool into Kaysa’s hand: Lara, with the requested blanket. “Lark’s saddlecloth’s a short reach to your right. Roll it inside. Once it’s covered, I’ll help you tie it.”

  Jess’s warning arose from the fireside. “Trouble’s coming in fast!” The staccato snapping of sticks spun him toward the lumbering charge of whatever approached. “Get Kaysa on Lark. Stay with her. I’ll follow with my Companion.”

  But the inbound threat came in too swiftly.

  “Run!” Kaysa gasped, chilled by the tightening quiet and cruel certainty that the Heralds were targeted prey.

  The monstrous predator hurtled out of the woods: not a boar. The vibration shocked through the ground carried the weight of not one creature but three.

  “Change-Beasts!” yelled Arif.

  Flame fluttered. Jess, defending his ground, swung his torch and backed against the firepit. “Run! Get Lark and Kaysa out of here!”

  No time left for Lara to secure the wrapped saddlecloth: Arif’s wiry grip hurled Kaysa astride Lark with the bundle clenched in her arms.

  The Companion bolted when she straddled his back. Lashed by his mane, knees clenched to his sides, Kaysa clung, whipped by low hanging branches. Arif galloped to her left, with Lara beside him. Neither dared slacken the breakneck pace. The least move to cater to her disability would bring ruin. All relied on their Companions in flight.

  Night impaired human sight. Worse, unaccustomed to living in darkness, the Heralds’ ears overlooked the use of echoes, as reflected hoof beats gave notice of tree trunks before their Companions swerved in avoidance. Or maybe sighted instinct cued them to look back as the aberrant monsters burst from the wood and took Jess, armed with naught but his sword and a torch.

  For Kaysa, the nightmare unfolded in sound: from behind, vicious growls rasped through tearing flesh as Jess fell without a cry. Blood and horror sowed panic among the Companions. Kaysa endured the thunderous tumult of hooves and the battering onslaught of whipping twigs and rushing wind. Agonized for Jess, fleeing terrors that blindness could never imagine, she ached for a sweet kindness forever lost: the lilted laugh, the considerate touch bestowed from the heart as Jess checked her gear, and his joyful horseplay that enlivened the tedium of travel.

  Kaysa’s only tribute for a lost friend was to stay astride. Through tears, she begged that the salvaged cloth clenched to her breast could unmask the murderous enemy.

  Riding for her life, she used what she had, listening behind in the hope that Jess’s bereaved Companion had miraculously won free. Instead, she heard the ominous crash of pursuit, closing on their lead from both flanks.

  “They’re cutting us off,” she called out. “Trying to stop us.” Whatever foe terrorized the Pelagiris Forest, the force worked the Change-Beasts with intelligence. The assault was driven by magical means for who knew what ugly purpose.

  “Only two,” Lara disclosed from the partnered awareness of her Companion. “Jess maybe wounded the other before he fell.”

  But no such heroic last stand had occurred. Kaysa knew, heavy-hearted. Jess’s brief struggle had ended alone. If Bards’ verses one day memorialized the courage of his final moments, he had not left the world on his feet, battling to save their company.

  Clearly, Kaysa had picked up the hideous evidence: sounds of teeth rending lifeless flesh and the ripe tang of slaughter assailing her nostrils. The Change-Beast had paused only to gorge on its kill and, too likely, to shred the carcass of the loyal Companion.

  Arif faltered, choked speechless by grief, which stung Lara into a tirade. “Don’t you dare pull up! Yes, I know what Jess meant to you! But our mission is paramount. We must survive to reach Haven!”

  To that end, they fled, harried by a ruthless hunt that seemed tireless. The Heralds’ battled the odds with their woodcraft, twisting and turning through the dense greenwood. Kaysa hung on without sense of direction, lost if she fell behind. The ordeal lasted until dawn, which drove the Change-Beasts to lair up under daylight.

  Surrounded by birdsong, shown respite at last, the Companions heaved with exhaustion.

  “Goddess protect us,” gasped Arif. “No one’s seen Change-Beasts like that since the Mage Wars. They never course in packs unless a Dark Adept controls them.” His apology addressed Kaysa directly. “You were right. I was wrong. There is evil afoot.”

  “Ill magic,” Lara agreed. Unspoken, the sorrow none cared to broach: that Tarron must have fallen afoul or been lured by the same nameless horror. That Jess had also been felled by such malice posed a deadly threat to the realm.

  “We cannot turn aside,” Arif resolved against the appalling stakes. “Our duty demands action, no matter the cost.”

  Kaysa was left to point out the disturbance, thrashing its way through the greenwood. “Listen up! Something follows us.”

  The Heralds paused. Both responded. “Companion!” Then, in detail Lara supplied through their bond, “She led the Change-Beasts down a false trail and helped draw them off before sunrise.”

  Shortly, Jess’s Companion arrived in their midst. Scraped and stricken by her brutal loss, she was nonetheless whole. Her witness of the arcane attack confirmed Kaysa’s theory. The fell power had tried to suborn her beloved Chosen before he died.

  Lara’s shock blazed with outrage. “This rogue power wants to warp Heralds for a nefarious purpose!”

  Arif explained to Kaysa what had been shared through their mind-linked Companions. “Jess went down as Tarron did, assaulted by magic designed as a snare. He threw himself into the jaws of the Change-Beast rather than be overtaken. By his final wish, his Companion escaped what appears to be a plot aimed to discredit Valdemar.” Sick with loathing, he paused, leaving Lara to frame the conclusion.

  “Because of you, Kaysa, we were not caught asleep. Jess died grateful for your timely warning.”

  Day brightened around them. Kaysa marked the subtle warmth as the sun reached the crowns of the trees: no unsettled sign marred the morning, and no eldritch presence bespoke an intrusion. But if no hostile force seemed in evidence, the moment’s reprieve could not last.

  Charged with Lark and the evidence critical to the realm’s security, she spoke with the honesty she ought to have embraced before leaving Ropewynd. “You must drop me at Exodus.” Henceforward, she must not impede the Heralds or further endanger their critical mission. “Better I make my way home with the traders than jeopardize your duty to the Queen’s Council.”

  “That’s risky business,” Lara objected. “The beasts tracking us will hound our trail into Exodus. We cannot expose innocents to such peril, and besides, our most direct route to Haven lies straight across country, not by the road.”

  The Heralds firmly resisted Kaysa’s bid to part company. “You provided our only warning last night. Yesterday, if we’d paid closer heed to your sensitivity, Jess might still be alive.”

  “That course might play into your enemy’s hands,” Kaysa cautioned. “Keep to the wilds, and the spelled attack that snared Tarron and Jess could also destroy you.”

  The stiff rustle of Arif’s objection preceded his spoken word. “Not quite. We could have been baited days before this, or driven into disaster. But whatever conspires against the Queen’s Own did not plan for our surprise advantage.”

&n
bsp; Kaysa braced for the hardheaded conclusion. Two Heralds were unfit to fill Jess’s shoes. Her parting at Exodus was inevitable for the greater good of the realm.

  But sensible Lara overturned the blind girl’s expectations. “We had you and Lark in our favor. If the saddlecloth in that blanket lends warning only you are fit to discern, we must rely on your senses to see us through.”

  “Will you come?” Arif pleaded. “For Jess, and for Tarron. Could you keep watch, even though the path may be dangerous?”

  Kaysa lifted her chin. “Yes,” she said, at last sure of her place. Because she was a girl who stepped outside the ordinary, she could do her vital part to serve Valdemar.

  Unexpected Consequences

  Elizabeth A. Vaughan

  Dearest Father,

  We have come through winter as well as one could expect, and spring is starting to show its fair hand on my lands. To my delight, the woods and fields are filled with wildflowers, most of which are strange to me, but their sweet scents and colors soothe my anxious soul.

  Anxious? Yes, for I have learned that the greatest risk to my people is the time between winter and spring, when our stockpiles are at their lowest, and the new crops have yet to come in.

  But if spring brings me these worries, it also has brought new hope to my people, who do not fear hard work. The able-bodied are in the fields, seeing to the herds, planting the crops. My fear is that our crops will not be sufficient to feed us, much less provide for surplus. Embroidery, the herds, these can only go so far to sustain us. I remember your lessons, Father. ‘Wise is the man with more than one color of wool in his shop.’

  Added to my worries is that, as the Lady of Sandbriar, it is my duty to see that the tax records kept for the accounting to the Crown are true and accurate. My Steward, Athelnor, fulfilled these obligations for my late husband, and the Old Lord before him. But he is of advanced years, and he caught a chill this past month. So, as a result. . . .

  “I’ll go,” Cera said firmly, hoping to end the argument.

  “Lady, you can’t.” Athelnor coughed, a racking, painful sound. He’d insisted on coming to his office, trailing blankets and handkerchiefs, a knitted cap perched on his old head. “The risk—”

  “You can’t go, you old fool.” Marga, his wife, hovered over him, scolding as she pulled at his blankets. Athelnor batted her away.

  “I will take Gareth and a few of the other lads,” Cera said soothingly from her usual chair.

  Gareth looked up from tending the hearth fire with a grin, his face lighting up at the thought of escaping his grandfather’s office and its endless paperwork. “I can bring my boar spear.”

  Marga rolled her eyes at her grandson, clearly still upset. Cera knew she hadn’t forgiven him and his friends for going boar hunting without permission.

  “I miss my cousin, the Old Lord,” Athelnor’s voice was the merest whisper, tired and pained. “I see him in Gareth . . . in that smile.”

  Marga gave Cera a worried look as she knelt at Athelnor’s side. “I know,” she said softly.

  “Forgive an old man his memories.” Athelnor took a ragged breath.

  Cera smiled gently. “This will give me a chance to see what my people need.”

  “And be seen,” Marga said. “You are always telling her she needs to be seen more.”

  Athelnor gave them all a gimlet stare. “Wildflowers brings wild men,” he recited the old proverb. “The bandits will be out, lurking in the woods. No place for a lady.”

  “No place for a man with the ague, either,” Marga said tartly.

  “You have been explaining all winter how it works,” Cera said. “You go out in early spring to check the records of the towns and villages so that when the Heralds come through to certify the accountings, all is in order. Then, after that, the Guard comes through and collects the actual tax money, yes? And it’s only Headman Ondon’s figures that look wrong this year.”

  Athelnor slumped in his chair. “It wouldn’t even be necessary, except Ondon is horrible with numbers. Good with people, but poor in his sums.”

  “It’s settled then.” Cera rose from her chair and headed the door. “Ondon is close enough that we can be there and back again in a day. I won’t be carrying any more than my normal purse. Queen Selenay has confirmed me in these lands after the tragic death of my late lord. I would insure that all is done well and properly so that she knows of our devotion to our duty and the Crown.” Cera paused in the doorway. “Gareth, let’s plan to leave tomorrow, earliest.”

  Athelnor was still muttering against it as she left the room, but she pretended not to hear him.

  • • •

  Cera went to find Alena, her handmaiden. They’d be there and back without staying, so there was no need for Alena to go with her. That would have horrified Alena in the day, but she was adapting to the ways of Valdemar just as Cera was. Perhaps even faster, now that they were both out from under the restrictions imposed on them by her late husband.

  Cera found her in the old solar, now the heart of industry, with embroiderers working around the clock. Children, too, learned to spin and sew the basics for an hour or so every day after their regular lessons. Elderly grandmothers taught the delicate patterns to the younger women.

  The women all smiled and nodded, but none paused to rise from their work. Cera had no time for wasted curtsys, and they knew it.

  And in the center stood a man on a stool, his shirt pulled up under thin arms, struggling to hold up a pair of thick work pants three sizes too big while being scolded by a woman with pins in her mouth.

  “Hold still, hold still,” Alena scolded as she tucked and pinned along one leg.

  “I am, woman.” Ager struggled to keep his balance and hold up the heavy cloth. “Quit pokin’ me.”

  “Big strong man like you.” Alena glanced over, and then dipped a quick curtsy to Cera. “M’lady.”

  “M’Lady.” Ager bobbed his head, blushing beat red.

  Cera ignored his embarrassment. She didn’t come any closer, for she still wasn’t completely comfortable around the man. Still, she could feel some sympathy for him. She focused on the pants. “Those are awfully big to be taken in. Maybe start with something smaller?”

  “Nothing smaller to be had.” Alena smiled through her pins, reaching for an inner seam.

  “Here now, woman, don’t be doing that,” Ager let go with one hand to bat her away. “Least of all here.” He blushed harder, looking around him.

  “I need to take an even amount from all the seams, or do you want to chafe?” Alena demanded, ignoring his struggles and pinning away. “You’ll need heavy pants, working with the herds. Was it something important, m’lady? I can leave him standing here a bit if you need me.” Alena turned her head, and winked at Cera.

  “Later is fine.” Cera tried to keep her laughter out of her voice as Ager protested again. “Come find me when you are done.”

  “As you wish, m’lady.”

  Cera headed back out with a light heart. Alena hadn’t looked so cheerful in a long time, hadn’t had that sparkle in her eye even before they’d left Haven. She knew that look; it was joyful and happy and filled with the possibilities of—

  Oh . . .

  Cera stopped dead in the hall.

  Ohhh.

  Alena and Ager? That wasn’t wise. It would only lead to pain and heartbreak, and if he so much as raised his hand—

  She stood there for a long moment, caught by her own thoughts, her heart racing unexpectedly in her chest.

  No. No, that was wrong. She made an effort to take in air. One long breath after another.

  Love could lead to heartache, Cera knew that well. But that was her own experience. Alena had every right to think on her future. If her eye fell on Ager, well, so be it. It would not be Cera’s choice, but it was not her choice to make. All she could do
was wish her loyal handmaiden the best, and see to it that Ager treated her well. Or he would answer to the Lady of Sandbriar, with all the power of Valdemaran law behind her.

  Her heart calming, Cera continued on to her chambers. She would not sour another’s joy.

  But she would ask Athelnor to refresh her on the applicable Crown law. Just in case.

  • • •

  Ondon had been welcoming, and it had taken her less than two hours to correct his errors. To her relief, he’d not been resentful of the correction, just grateful and a bit embarrassed.

  “My thanks, Lady Cera.” He’d brushed the few gray hairs that remained over his pate. “Can I offer you the hospitality of my home this night?”

  “No, Headman, but thank you.” Cera knew they’d not much time to spare. “If we leave now, we’ll be back before supper. And the boys were promised a berry crumble for their efforts.”

  “Best eaten hot,” Gareth chimed in.

  Ondon had seen them off with effusive thanks. Now the sky was clear, the air crisp, her cloak warm, and the road open ahead. Even her steady mule seemed to be enjoying the day.

  Wildflowers danced in the breeze on both sides of the road, their scents lovely but strange. Perhaps different was the better word. As lovely as Sandbriar was in springtime, it was not the same as her childhood home in Rethwellan.

  The boys rode ahead of her, talking and laughing, no doubt planning another hunt.

  Leaving Cera with only her thoughts for companions.

  She took another breath of crisp air and tried to be grateful to the Trine for their blessings. But spring was bringing with it the anniversary of her unlamented husband’s death. When she’d learned of his participation in the attack on Queen Selenay, she’d thought her life would be ended as well. But thanks to the mercy of the Queen and her Companion, Cera found herself with a new home and new responsibilities.