Fires of Aggar (31 page)

“There’re three of us,” Gwyn muttered absently, still worriedly gazing after Ril. But as the thunder rolled again, they were both reminded to move for camp. As they topped the crest, Gwyn shook her unease aside and continued more sociably. “There’s Ril, Ty and myself. At the moment, Ty’s leading my third mount, Nia, on a meandering chase north that will lead the Clan scouts astray — I hope. It may take them a while to notice you didn’t burn in that building, but I’d wager most anything that they will notice.”

“Aye, they will.” The Dracoon too was grimly certain of that.

“With this storm though, Ty will turn Nia back. Like us, she’ll take advantage of the rain to cover their tracks. If we all keep off the worn game trails and the Trader’s Road, this leaf mulch and rain will leave precious little trace of us.”

“Oh yes.” Llinolae seemed to pull her wits together with an impatient, internal little shake. “That’s why risk the bathing….”

“This storm has the earmarks of a heavy one.” Gwyn eyed her companion with concern. “The rains will wipe out any signs of us in the camp and down at the stream.”

“Which I should have realized myself,” Llinolae admitted ruefully. “Seems my head’s not quite functioning yet.”

“That was a nasty blow they gave you yesterday.”

At Gwyn’s gentled tone, a sarcastic curl twisted the slender line of Llinolae’s lips. “Small blessings are favors too. I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

Disgruntled, Gwyn glanced above at the darkening skies beyond the forest canopy. Those patches of ghostly glows were becoming duller by the moment. She couldn’t tell if the cloud cover was thickening or if the early moon was preparing to set. She thought it was too soon for the latter, but given her nerves tonight that internal clock might well be wrong.

And they were still a good league from the gorge — Mae n’Pour!

Cinder shied as Ril emerged from the wooded shadows, and impatiently Gwyn kneed her mare back into obedience, but not before the sharp ‘clack’ betrayed a hoof striking against some rock or other. Gwyn admitted defeat with that hollow ring. They weren’t going to make the valley floor before sunrise. At this rate they weren’t even going to make the gorge edge without leaving a trail akin to a wounded buntsow’s! The horses were stumbling around in the dark, the wind was chilled and picking up, and nothing but more rain and darker hours were to come. Certainly the sliver of the midnight moon tonight wouldn’t cut through this overcast by itself, and if that early Twin was on the verge of setting, then they really did need to find shelter soon. And if the early moon wasn’t setting, then the second half of this storm was going to be worse than Gwyn wanted to think about!

“Either is a good reason to hole up for the rest of the night,” Gwyn muttered. Ril nudged her booted ankle with relieved agreement. It was enough to make Gwyn smile again. “All right, old friend. I stand rebuked. Now tell me — have you some place in mind already?”

Ril trotted off the game trail with an eagerness that made Gwyn chuckle, and they all followed. She should have known.

From behind Cinder, Calypso grunted with a weary satisfaction. The mare knew from long experience how the abrupt change in manner from a sandwolf meant the day’s trek was nearly done. Gwyn couldn’t blame either of her mares, nor the weary slump of the cloaked figure astride Calypso — she’d been pushing them hard. The more distance they claimed between rains, the fewer clues would be left for the Clan scouts. But even her own aching muscles attested to the fact that none of them were invincible. It was time to rest.

The cavernous honeywood Ril had chosen was split by a shelf of rock at its base. A twisted growth of an entrance provided a wide enough space to comfortably ride the horses in through — a gray mortar-like wall on one side, ruddy-barked wood on the other. With the smattering of light still available, Gwyn made out the curving bend that led deeper into the hollow and then the rough stone plateau above from which Ril gazed down at them.

“Perfect,” Gwyn breathed, pride and pleasure coursing through that silent bond between her and her packmate. They’d be able to leave the horses below and to risk a fire up top. And Ril was right about their need for a fire — despite the evidence it would leave. With the chilled, wet weather, the lack of proper gear and general exhaustion from the past ten-day, they all needed warm, dry beds and full stomachs tonight.

She hoped Ty’s natural exuberance didn’t outweigh common sense this evening. Poor Nia was going to be in bad enough shape after three days of full pack, without Ty demanding a shivering martyrdom from her as well.

Ril caught Gwyn’s eye with a reassuring grin. Ty did have more sense than that, even she knew it.

Gwyn chuckled, swinging down from her saddle with an absent pat to Cinder as she peered overhead into those mossy tree crevices again. It smelled fresh enough, not in the least dank, and that told her there had to be additional ventilation somewhere above. A little sulfur powder rolled into that haymoss, and the stuff should burn just fine… perhaps a bit slowly, but quite fine.

A muffled cry from Llinolae caught both Gwyn and Ril’s attention. But it was Calypso’s stock-still rigidity that sent Gwyn moving forward in alarm. Very carefully she reached to ease Llinolae down in that last, long step from stirrup to ground. Even then, beneath the oil slicked cloak and the tunic, Gwyn could feel the flinch of bruised muscles at the pressure of her touch. Guilt stung sharply, reminding Gwyn that worse things than hard travel had been plaguing Llinolae in the past few days.

“Thank you.” The words were a mere hush. Llinolae barely moved, shifting only enough to bury her face in Calypso’s silky, black mane. Her arms circled the mare’s strong neck for support, and Gwyn hovered with growing concerns. A thread of laughter found its way into the rasping voice as Llinolae managed, “Saddle sore at my tender age — who’d believe me?”

With great gentleness, Gwyn laid a hand to the Dracoon’s back. “Let me get you settled up with Ril, before I deal with the horses.”

A weary shake of the head answered her. Llinolae straightened slightly. “It’ll do me better to move some — stretch these knots out. I can brush them both down.”

Gwyn frowned, hesitating.

“I’m all right, Marshal.” Llinolae smiled a tired, touchingly sweet smile as she turned to catch Gwyn’s hand. “Really I am. Go on now, get things organized to your liking.”

Gwyn squeezed the other’s grasp encouragingly and accepted the reassurance. “Say if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

It took a while, but not nearly as long as most would have expected, for Gwyn to convert that dingy space into a livable camp. She started with a few makeshift torches before climbing into the mossy heights and hacking away at the shaggy tendrils. A family of prippers darted deeper into the tree’s upper crevices, chattering in rebellion. A single bed of glowing crickets emptied with a flurry that had Gwyn batting awkwardly with her sword hilt and clinging rather precariously to the webbed vines as she tried to keep the things out of her hair. But there was nothing more exciting to encounter, and she’d soon cut enough haymoss to supplement the mares’ grain, feed a good fire for the night, and lend a springy cushion beneath their blankets as well. By the time she’d rolled several moss logs together and started the fire blazing, Llinolae was nearly done brushing Cinder.

Gwyn shared a smile with the woman, glad to see some of her stiffness had indeed worn off. “I left a pan of tea to brew — Ril’s going to show me the fresh water she’s found. I may be gone for a bit.”

“Anything I should start cooking?”

“Not without more water,” Gwyn admitted, shouldering their pair of empty water bags. Judging by Llinolae’s rich skin tones and bruised eye shadows, Gwyn knew why neither of them were suggesting she accompany Gwyn; a long trek with heavy waterskins was obviously not in the woman’s best interests just yet. “I’ll send Ril back ahead of me, once I know where I’m going.”

Llinolae nodded, faintly amused. “I suspect I’ll be here.”

With a crooked grin, Gwyn admitted that that was most likely what she’d expected too. But she couldn’t quite think of anything else to say, and with an awkward shrug she left. Feeling tongue-tied was not a condition she was accustomed to, Gwyn found. Though oddly enough, she was almost enjoying it.

Thunder was beginning to grumble again when Gwyn returned. Her mares greeted her with soft wuffles, eager for the water she’d brought. She murmured fondly to them as she patiently filled and refilled the small canvas hollow she’d fixed in a rocky niche for their trough. Their thirst sated at last, she gave each of those velvety muzzles a hug and climbed around to the warmer heights of the fire.

She came over the edge of their small plateau and paused in surprise. The blankets had been neatly spread across the wide bed of haymoss. The damp horse blankets and oiled cloaks had been draped across the rocky edges to the right side of the fire. The tea was ready. And beyond the crackling flames, curled against a rock with her head pillowed in Ril’s thick ruff, slept Llinolae.

The pleading eyes of her packmate begged stealth, and Gwyn didn’t have the heart to refuse.

“Know that I am grateful, Dumauz. Your approval of her is important to me. Though, right now, I can see nothing any would disapprove of in her.”

The bruised hollows around Llinolae’s eyes had begun to recede. The slumber had taken some of the weariness too, and the pale brown of her skin was from the kiss of wind and sun. She’d scrounged out a rust-brown kerchief and donned it as a band to keep the odd lengths of hair from her eyes.

“She sleeps with such peace, Ril. Even after what she’s been through she trusts and sleeps.” Yet her strength of resolve and confidence had not been completely shed by slumber.

Gwyn felt her heart strings tug just a little more. Life for Khirlan’s Dracoon would never be simple or peaceful enough to erase all mark of her responsibilities.

“And if I let myself come to care for you…,” Gwyn shook her head faintly and sighed. “Caring for you would never be simple either, would it? But it would never be taken for granted either.”

Last night and today, Gwyn had seen that Llinolae’s determined passions were in no way cold. Instead Llinolae had shown her openness and self-assurance.

“I never would have expected you to turn and thank another for help in dismounting, but now I can barely imagine you losing your patience and withdrawing from honestly needed aid.”

Would — could — Gwyn herself have been so trusting of a stranger? Even if that stranger held the title of a Royal Marshal, even if the Blue Sight suggested trust could be given?

Gwyn drew herself back with a slight shake. There were things needing attention. At least for the moment, she should try to remember that she was in charge of getting them done, because eventide certainly wasn’t going to cook itself!

“That was good.” Llinolae sighed, savoring the flavor of that last, warm spoonful of porridge.

Ril whined in a confused protest, and Gwyn glanced up with a faintly indulgent expression of her own. “It must be the fresh mumut.”

“Hmmm…,” the other woman ignored the sarcasm. Leaning back against the rock with a blanket wrapped around her and her eyes blissfully half-shut, Llinolae looked as contented as if she’d finished a ten course meal instead of a second bowl of sweetened mush. “I didn’t know it grew so far north.”

“What?”

“Mumut.” Llinolae stirred enough to pass her empty bowl into Gwyn’s waiting hand. “Does it grow in Valley Bay itself?”

“Ah — no. We’ve got something similar, though.” Gwyn rinsed the last of their dishes, a crooked grin growing. “We call it cinnamon. ”

“Cinnamon?” A puzzled frown folded a crease between those slender brows.

“It’s not—”

“It’s from your home world, isn’t it?”

It was Gwyn’s turn to be surprised.

“Yes, I remember now.” A brief smile nearly stunned Gwyn before it vanished again. “You save the spice as those little stick things, then grind the ends down for a cooking powder or use the stick itself to stir flavor into a hot drink. Do I have the right spice?”

“Yes, you do.”

“And it tastes a bit like mumut?”

For lack of anything more coherent to say, Gwyn simply nodded.

“I’d never guessed.” Llinolae seemed pleased with that small discovery and drifted off into her thoughts, leaving Gwyn staring. Ril gave her new friend a gentle butt with her nose, and Llinolae remembered her presence, apologizing with a fond smile. The sandwolf’s eyes glazed and nearly closed as Llinolae obligingly set to scratching behind a pointed, black ear.

“Do you enjoy cooking?” Gwyn found her sensibilities somewhere and settled herself away from the fire, tea in hand. “That you know about rare spices like cinnamon, I mean.”

“No,” Llinolae was amused by the very idea. “I just have an insatiable curiosity. With the everyday sorts of things, I tend to be the habitual observer.”

What Blue Sight wasn’t, Gwyn admitted to herself. She swirled the reddish tea in her cup, watching the small twigs and leaf bits collect in the middle. The feelings inside of her seemed to calm as the tea leaves danced in their age-old patterns. She fleetingly wondered if this warming peace might be Llinolae’s doing with her Sight, but she couldn’t deny that she’d welcome it, even if it was Llinolae’s projections. They all could certainly use the respite. Although on further thought, Gwyn decided the feeling was probably just from the welcomed fire warding off that cold, thrumming rainstorm.

A strangled, little yowl drew a chuckle from Gwyn as she saw Ril nearly roll into Llinolae’s lap, stretching to get her tummy rubbed. “Mind your manners, Dumauz. That woman’s a lot sorer than you are, I’ll wager.”

Guiltily, Ril withdrew — but only to Llinolae’s side. A reassuring rub along her stomach line returned the panting pleasure quickly, and in a very un-Ril-like, tongue-lolling manner, the sandwolf gazed up into Llinolae’s blue eyes with sheer adoration.

Dear Goddess, not the both of us! Gwyn wryly recalled that archaic term of ‘puppy love.’