The Schemes of Dragons

XXI

THE SUN BURST OUT from behind a thin, solitary wisp of cloud as Wynneth climbed the hill. She trod carefully due to the extra weight in her belly, but vigorously, no longer burdened by the sleepiness of the second and third month, no longer weakened by morning sickness. This was the good part, her female relatives told her. She had started to swell; she could feel the baby move. It was becoming real.

She clambered to an outcropping, joining Solint the Minstrel at his lookout station. To the south stretched yellow prairie. A dark line denoted the edge of the great forest, nearly lost in the shimmer of the warm, midday air. A hundred leagues farther, separated by tracts of pristine, barely explored timberland, lay the coast of Cilendrodel and the town of Old Stump.

"Do you think we've lost them?" she asked. No telltale smoke or cloud of dust rose into the sky.

Solint strummed his lute; he was not one to allow guard duty to prevent him from composing. "For the moment."

Eight weeks after the sack of Puriel's fortress, Omril still pursued the rebel band, accompanied by two cohorts from the garrison at Yent. He had left the punishment of Old Stump's citizens to the acting governor and had singlemindedly chased Alemar and Elenya into the wilderness. Nothing dissuaded him, not the difficulties of supplying such a large group of men over such a distance, not the tediousness of cutting their way through tracks of untamed forest, not the attrition of the company by wild animals, booby traps, or nighttime rebel harassment. Three times the twins had tried to establish camps and enjoy some much needed recuperation; three times Omril had located them.

In their latest effort, they had waded along a river for a day to conceal their tracks, while a few members of the band created a false trail. Wynneth hoped they had finally bought themselves some time. The wizard would think it unlikely that they had ventured into open terrain. He would assume that the rythni were still helping Alemar's band, and rythni would not leave the forest.

Thus far it had worked. For the first time, the rebels looked less haggard, and had caught up on sleep. But Wynneth still fretted. Alemar needed more than a few days respite.

"I brought some sour cakes," Wynneth told Solint. "We've got the oven working." She waved at the crude construction down in the camp. A faint trace of smoke rose from the stack: a risk. However, the plains were often dotted with the campfires of the indigenous nomads. It had been too long since the rebels had tasted fresh bread and other baked goods. The presence of the oven had already boosted morale.

Solint smiled, stuffed his mouth full, and kissed her. She brushed the crumbs off her lips and laughed, recalling the sweetness of his kisses during the years before Alemar returned from the Eastern Deserts and married her. If music and sex had been enough to fulfill her, she might have lived a very different life.

She descended the hill. Elenya was still drilling a half dozen of the company in unarmed combat. At the moment they were performing an endurance exercise, kicking by her count. They paused for one deep breath between each set of ten. They were up to three hundred, and had the other leg yet to go. Elenya still kicked high and strong. All but one of the others had withered. Two barely raised their feet higher than shin level.

Wynneth kept her face averted, sparing them the embarrassment of an extra observer. They grimaced in frustration. They had exercised continuously for over three hours. She might soon have to interrupt. She could use the freshly baked treats as an excuse.

Elenya was a hard taskmaster; she demanded performance close to her own level. Even those with the youth, strength, and stamina to match her normal pace were being taxed to their limits lately. Wynneth winced as the princess yelled for everyone to kick higher.

They needed Alemar's tempering influence. She glanced nervously up the hill to the north, to the cave where her husband had secluded himself. She should not interrupt him. Still, he might appreciate some of the sour cakes. She had not bothered him for an entire day.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she loaded a small basket and started up the path. She felt Elenya's glance follow her all the way up.

Alemar lay at the mouth of the cave, staring up at the sky. The crescent of Serpent Moon hung there, a pale imitation of the brilliant blue and white half-circlet displayed at night. He heard Wynneth approach, but did not react.

She set the basket down near his head. "Your son and I have come to visit you," she said cheerfully.

He gradually turned and met her gaze. He glanced at the basket. "Just leave it. I'll eat later."

Wynneth sucked her lips inward, then puckered them, then sighed. She moved the cakes next to his other supplies and left, chin hung low.

Guilt settled on him like gnats at a lakeside. But he did not call her back. The visions in his head killed his involvement in the current moment. His relationship with his wife, his sister, and his comrades paled against the misery of those internal images. Rythni wings burned like oiled torches. Iregg's hand, crippled in battle, turned blue and lifeless as he held it. Memories of power now lost haunted him. The gentleness that caused the little people to be enamored of him eluded his grasp. He knew Wynneth had only been expressing concern, but all he wanted was to shut out the world.

Retreat. He waited for the ritual that he had learned in Zyraii to heal the healer. He clung to the belief that it would. Until it did, he could not face the challenges before him, could not forgive himself, could not care if he lived or died.

What had his teacher said? "The sorcery within is a fragile gift. When nothing is left but embers, it must be banked and nurtured, or it will expire."

Perhaps the embers had gone out.

Elenya's group paused. As Wynneth went to splash some water on her face at the spring, the princess walked over, limping slightly. "Well?" she asked, obviously trying to keep the tone conversational.

"No change," Wynneth said. The chill of the water made her shudder.

"They have a saying in Zyraii. 'There is nothing so distant as a Hab-no-ken on Retreat.'"

"I know why they say that," Wynneth murmured.

"In fact, if he were to follow the tradition of Zyraii healers, he would have sequestered himself in a spot where no one could have found him."

"Then I suppose I should be grateful." Her sarcasm dripped off her tongue like acid.

Elenya gently laid a hand on her sister-in-law's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Wynneth said, sighing. "I just didn't expect him to cut himself off from me."

"Why don't you show me some of those things you've been creating in that oven? I was wondering when someone was going to make use of all these sourberry vines," Elenya said, waving at the brambles near the camp.

Wynneth tried to smile. Elenya took her by the arm and they walked together toward the rich, enticing scent. One of the other camp women withdrew a fresh batch of the tiny cakes. Elenya and Wynneth each snagged one. They blew on them to help them cool.

They had just swallowed them when Solint let out a cry. Instantly the entire camp was in motion. Elenya sprinted toward the lookout point, rapier drawn, followed by four others. Men rushed to put on their armor and saddle the oeikani. Wynneth and the women gathered supplies. She cast a quick glance toward Alemar's position, but could not see him.

The band paused while Elenya, Solint, and the others on the hilltop stared southward. A rabbit bounded across the grass, startling Wynneth; she had inadvertently stepped on its burrow. Elenya came down the slope at a less hectic pace than when she had ascended. Wynneth released a pent-up breath. Whatever Solint had spotted was apparently not cause for panic.

Elenya dispatched men to the flanks of the southern approach to the camp, ordering them to conceal themselves. She told the others to wait to break camp. "It's one rider. He's making straight for us. Let's see what he has to say for himself."

Archers lined up on one side of the path, arrows ready. The rider continued without slackening his pace, between the hidden ambushers, over the concealing rise to where the bowmen and the rest of the rebel camp waited. Only when he was well within range of the arrows did he rein up.

Elenya stepped to the front, a hundred paces away from him, rapier out. Her gauntlet glowed even in the daylight.

Thick dust, broken by sweat tracks, coated the rider's swarthy face, his raven hair tufted and scattered by the wind. A young man, he wore a loose-fitting violet robe, embroidered in the intricate whorls and geometric patterns common to the Eastern Deserts, very similar to that decorating the white Zyraii garb Elenya, by coincidence, wore that day. He carried a scimitar on his belt, as well as a demonblade, and a small recurved bow projected from the rear of his saddle.

He raised his hands to show his lack of drawn weapons, inclined his head toward the archers, and called out to Elenya in a voice rendered hoarse from long, dry travelling. Wynneth did not understand the language.

Elenya frowned, and haltingly responded in the same tongue. "Let him approach," she told her band.

The rider dismounted, left his weary mount to nibble at the nearest clump of grass, and walked forward. He moves with the grace of a dancer, thought Wynneth. It was remarkable considering how stiff he should have been from the ride. The grime quite possibly hid a handsome face. As he neared, he unhooked a scroll canister from his belt, which he held out to Elenya. He kept a respectful three paces distant.

Elenya hesitated. Wynneth guessed why and stepped closer. Finally the princess slipped the parchment from the container and unrolled it. Glyphs that Wynneth recognized as Zyraii characters appeared, the brown ink rendered almost black against the wheat-colored surface.

Elenya's eyes went wide. Wynneth could no longer stand it. "Is it from Lonal?" she blurted.

Elenya chuckled wistfully. "No. This man is a Surudainese. But the message is from Zyraii."

Wynneth blinked. "How did he find us?"

"The scroll led him." Elenya held it out, and translated: I can feel his pain even at this distance. Retreat will not cure him. But there is a way. Ask him to heal you. If he questions you, mention the name Ilyrra. He will understand what he must do.-Gast.

"Gast?" Wynneth whispered. "Alemar's teacher?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"Alemar will have to answer that." Elenya called over to the camp women. "This man has ridden hard. Feed him, give him wash water and shade to rest under. Someone should groom his oeikani." She spoke to the man. He nodded and went to enjoy the hospitality.

"Coming?" Elenya asked as she started for the cave.

Wynneth nearly stumbled over her sister-in-law's heels in her haste.