Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (6 page)

She nodded towards the river. “Now we ride south in the shallows.”

“The water will slow the horses,” Gem said.

Loren tilted her chin at him ever so slightly. “A bit, yes. But Jordel will find our trail and see that we entered the water. We might ride east or west once we leave it, and he will be forced to go slowly so as not to miss our marks. We will move slowly, but he will move slower still.”

“Clever,” said Xain, his voice grudging. “Perhaps I am too quick to forget your woodcraft, Loren of the family Nelda.”

Loren thrilled at the compliment but gave the wizard only a brisk nod. “I have few enough skills in this world and must make do with what I can.”

“Perhaps not as few as you believe.”

Gem said, “Shall we ride on, or would the two of you prefer a moment alone?”
 

Xain cuffed the boy on his ear. Loren reached across and punched him gently under the ribs. Gem gasped for air.

They rode forward with Loren in the lead heading into the shallows. Xain and Annis followed in line behind her. She kept them at a trot, and soon water moistened their boots where their horses’ hooves kicked up a spray.

On and on they rode, and at long last they felt the kiss of true dawn as the sun broke above low hills to the east. By now, Loren knew Jordel must have been following their trail for a while—the sky had been light enough for nearly an hour. But tracking required thought, and he would not find their entry to the river for some time.
 

Or so Loren hoped.
 

Their horses devoured the miles in silence. Eventually, the sun passed straight overhead, and their mounts flagged beneath them. Xain ordered a rest. Loren protested, and the wizard fixed her with a stern glare.

“You know your woodcraft, but you are a novice when it comes to horses. Our mounts will die beneath us if we do not care for them, and then the Mystic will have no trouble catching us. I do not doubt his horses are worthier than ours, but they too must rest.”

Loren grudgingly acknowledged her ignorance. No villager in the Birchwood had ever hoped to afford a horse. The thought of suddenly losing their steeds in this wide foreign land chilled her to the bone.

“Won’t they see our marks here?” Gem pointed to the ground, where their horse’s sopping hoofprints stood clear amidst the riverbank’s loose grey sand.

Loren said, “It will hardly matter. They will see only that we rested and then returned to the water. It will only reassure them that they are on the right path, and there is little we can do about that unless you wish to break bread in the water.”
 

“No thank you. I am soaked already.” Loren saw it was true, for without boots Gem’s legs were well doused.
 

They hobbled the horses and ate a cold meal on the riverbank. Loren took the chance to speak with Annis again. After another brief hug, they sat on the water’s edge, heedless of the damp sand clinging to their bodies.

“I feel I am learning everything in bits and pieces,” Loren said. “What happened to the carriage? Or rather its driver, for you and Xain did not leave Cabrus alone.”

Annis’s face grew dark. “The driver proved himself less than staunch in his loyalty. Once we saw you with the Mystic, he chose to flee. Or rather, he aimed to leave us once he saw that Xain seemed set upon stalking you both. He did not like the idea of crossing a redcloak, and after seeing the wizard’s dark mood I cannot say I blame him. I know little of what the Mystics do but do know that even my mother must pay them respect. In any case, we found an inn upon the road. There the driver abandoned us, calling our purpose a folly he wanted no part in. He made us buy horses of our own, though to his credit gave us some coin for the purpose. A small pittance compared to his payment for transport, but still it allowed us to mount and ride on after you.”

Loren let herself smile. After all the terror of her days in Cabrus, it seemed an eternity since she and Annis had spoken. She had almost forgotten the girl’s manner of speaking: a tumble of crashing words spilling from her lips like a waterfall.

But a more serious matter tugged her attention. Loren glanced over her shoulder at Xain. The wizard sat well apart, tearing with almost vindictive fury at bread and meat from his saddlebag. He seemed preoccupied. Loren leaned in close.
 

“You had a package when last we spoke—something you claimed from your mother before we left her company. Do you have it still?”

Annis’s look grew furtive. She too stole a glance at Xain and then Gem. “Indeed.” She drew back her cloak to show an interior pocket and the edge of a brown cloth packet.
 

“Xain does not know you have it?”

“I have spoken no word until now. Do you know anything more of its purpose? It has been a great weight upon me these last many days, and more than once I have had the urge to fling it upon the road.”

“I know nothing more than when last we spoke. Only the name
magestone,
and that they sit well outside the King’s law.”

“If they are a wizard’s tool, then mayhap we should tell Xain. He may know of their purpose, or at least what we should do with them.”

Loren remembered the shock and hatred on the constables’ faces when the magestones had scattered on the ground outside Cabrus—and still shuddered to think of that moment when she and Annis had fled from Damaris and earned themselves enemies beyond comprehension.
 

Loren said, “Of things concerning wizards, I would sooner learn from those who have no spark of magic within them. For any matter of great power seems to attract only intrigue and ill will. Those I would avoid where I can.”

Annis solemnly nodded. “Very well. When we reach a city, let us learn what we can. I will guard the stones with my life until then.”

“No,” Loren said. “They are not worth that.”

Loren heard Xain moving to rise behind her and shoved the girl’s hand back beneath her cloak. Together, they rose and turned to the wizard, who cast his blank eyes upon them. If he had heard their words, he gave no sign.

“We have rested long enough,” Xain said. “Let us ride.”

eight

THEY RODE ON, UNTIL THE day faded and their horses picked their careful way through moonslight—though they often looked over their shoulders to nothing. Xain made them press on through the night, though he did let the horses slow to a walk. They sped their pace again at dawn and so passed another long, tense day of riding. Still, they saw no sign of pursuit, neither from the Mystic nor the army at their backs.

“Mayhap the army found them, and they are embattled,” said Gem as they paused for lunch on the second day.

“Mayhap,” said Loren, hoping that held no truth. She might not wish to ride beside the Mystic, but neither did she wish him harm.
 

Xain said nothing.

By the second day’s end, Loren nearly slept in her saddle, and mayhap would have had she not repeatedly jostled Annis to keep the girl mounted. Xain kept one arm wrapped tight around Gem as they rode, for his head lolled back and forth as the horse slowed and sped. He looked like a marionette dangling from the limpest of strings. Xain himself looked exhausted, and more than once he nearly let Gem spill to the ground.

As sun kissed horizon, Loren pulled her mount to a stop, letting the river idly flow around the horse’s hocks. “We must rest, for the children’s sake. They cannot go on like this forever. And neither can we.”

Xain blinked hard, looking at Loren. His lids rose slower than normal. “The Mystic will not stop. Not if I know his kind.”

“He has ridden slower than us, I tell you. He had to, or risk passing our trail when we left the river.”

Xain blinked again and looked down, confused. “We are still in the river.”

“That settles it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Find your way to land, wizard. Your wits are addled.”
 

Loren seized Xain’s reins and spurred both horses forward, riding in tandem until they reached dry land.

“Only for a few hours,” insisted Xain.

“Agreed,” said Loren. “I am tired, not eager to be found.”

Gem only woke enough to keep from tumbling out of his saddle. Once Xain lowered him to the ground, he lay upon the grass and slept. Annis dismounted more demurely, taking the time to hobble her horse and fasten its reins to the branches of a willow stooping over the water. Then she, too, lay upon the ground and fell to slumber before unpacking her bedroll. She curled herself next to Gem, her head resting against his shoulder. The boy slept on, heedless.

Loren saw Xain sway on his feet and sighed. “You are nearly dead from exhaustion. I will take the first watch and wake you with two hours gone.”
 

“There is no need,” said Xain.

He raised his eyes. They glowed fire white in the darkness. Loren saw nothing else, but she heard it—a faint whispering in the wind. And she felt it—a brush against her cheek, a murmur along her skin. The bright glow left the wizard’s eyes and slowly dimmed to nothing. After a moment, the sound and feeling passed. Loren suppressed a hard shiver.
 

“What sorcery was that?”

Xain grunted. “A spell of warding. A wall of air now stands around us. It will not bar a determined attack, but a blow upon it will pull me from the deepest sleep. None will come upon us without warning.”

“A firemage has more talents than simple flame, it seems.” Awe made Loren forget her weariness. “Why do you fear the Mystic if you have such tricks? What harm might he bring you?”

Xain scowled. “I told you he does not mean to kill me, nor to maim. The Mystics may yet be terrible when they go to war, but greater still is the danger of their velvet tongues. They spin lies as a weaver does cloth, and their schemes stretch beyond the most ambitious plots of both merchant and king. Find yourself stuck in their web of intrigue, and you are not likely to ever escape.”

Loren gulped as her throat grew dry. Fingers strayed to her dagger. Xain followed the motion, and his eyes hardened when again they found hers. He turned to pull the bedroll from his saddle.

Loren thought she might sleep uneasily, but her head hit the ground and everything faded to black.
 

Her eyes opened to a bright blue sky and an urgent hand on her shoulder.

“Wake up!” said Gem, shaking her. “We have all of us overslept, it seems, though I hold the wizard most to blame. A mind such as mine requires rest.”

Loren stood to find Xain furiously throwing his bedroll into his saddlebag, his every movement sharp, angry.

“Your barrier,” said Loren. “Is it breached?”

“It stands undisturbed. They have not yet found us. But they could be upon our heels. Dawn has long since passed.”

Loren looked up to the sun several fingers above the hill tops. She could not believe she had slept so long. After trudging through too many unrested hours, they were now forced to ride on and hope for the best.

In minutes, they were mounted and riding, with the wizard pushing their steeds to the limit. Even running in the cool river water, Loren’s horse burnt beneath her, and a thick lather formed on its flanks, its breath harsh, gasping from flared nostrils.

“How long can they run like this?” she asked. “You said yourself they are no good if they die beneath us.”

“Long enough, I hope,” said Xain, “for today we should reach the water town of Redbrook. There we will trade our horses for a boat.”

Loren was used to the open road, wide country, and a clear sky above. But in flight, she would rather be behind city walls, where buildings and rooftops were aplenty to hide.

Xain spoke truly. Long before Loren thought to ask for lunch, they spotted a black streak crouching on the horizon. As they rode ever southward, the streak became a long stretch of squat buildings peeking above a derelict wall made of stone and wooden spikes. The wall and buildings both had the look of an afterthought, ramshackle constructions erected in some curious blend of haste and lethargy by whoever happened to wander by each day. As they got closer still, Loren saw their river had joined a larger one, running until it passed through the town’s center before them.

Xain let the horses slow to a trot as they finally traded river for road. As they drew nearer to the walls, the horses slowed to a dull walk. Xain spoke as if making a proclamation.

“The town of Redbrook. An outpost of Selvan in name but peopled by a lazy and unambitious folk. Still, they have their charm and do not ask many questions of travelers, for they see them aplenty. Nor are they overly fond of Mystics—a quality I often admire and never more so than now.”

Loren studied the town, so much smaller and quainter than Cabrus, grander than her own village in the Birchwood, and utterly unlike either place in manner or form. They approached the walls to find a single wooden gate swung open rather than drawn up. Its bottom rested deep in the mud and looked as though it had been immobile for months. A single guard sat watch, ancient and leaning on a pike. Loren saw a wineskin resting under his chair.

“Who goes there?” called the guard as they approached.