Path of Fate (33 page)

“Kebonsat! Have care. Saljane calls,” she cried with a gasp. Kebonsat spun his horse and caught up Reisil’s reins while Sodur and Juhrnus came up beside her. But she was no longer there to notice. Her mind flew high with Saljane.

They coasted on the thermal currents over a green valley in the western foothills of the Dume Griste mountains. Beyond were rolling grasslands stretching as far as the horizon.

A fortress keep nestled against a sheer cliff at the northern end of the green wedge. A high, thick wall drawn tight against the steep valley sides formed an apron around the bailey. The ground in front of the wall dropped sharply down the motte to the valley floor. A waterfall cascaded over the cliffs into a sluice that funneled into the keep before draining into a crystal lake outside the walls.

Reisil described it aloud for her companions.

“Can you see a pennant? A coat of arms? Something to tell us where you are?” pressed Kebonsat.

“On the tower and over the gates.” Saljane swooped low to give her a better vantage point. The wind blew in short gusts, fluttering the pennants and then dropping them like sodden rags. Reisil made a gulping sound and her fingers whitened on the saddle as the bird rode the unsteady wind.

“Yes, I see it now. It’s quartered—yellow and green, and there are black symbols in the yellow patches. The upper one is a star; the other is a pair of crossed swords, hilts up.”

“Mekelsek,” Kebonsat said grimly. “His keep is formidable. What of Ceriba?”

Saljane skimmed away from the tower, surprising Reisil when she flew out over the walls into the valley. Outside the walls along the edge of the wood-fringed lake was the kidnappers’ campsite. Reisil sought eagerly for Ceriba and found her huddled near the fire, her clothes filthy and torn, her face bruised and swollen. She leaned hunched and awkward, as if in great pain.

With Saljane’s piercing vision, Reisil was able to see that her nose was broken. Dried blood stained her cheeks and hands.

Fury lit sparks in Reisil’s blood. She reached out a helpless hand, then forced herself to examine the scene detachedly, refusing to consider what else the kidnappers—what Kaval—might have done to their captive. Nor did she describe Ceriba’s appearance, merely giving the layout of the campsite and the disposition of her kidnappers.

“I can see four of them. Kaval, the wheelwright from Kallas in his gray cloak, the man with the thick paunch and steel-gray hair, and a stout, yellow-haired man with a smooth-shaven, round face. I don’t recognize him. Wait! Yes, I do. He does odd jobs—hauling wood, delivering coal—mostly for war-widows who need the extra muscle. The scar-faced man and the man with the green cloak aren’t there. No. I see them now. Near the gates. I think they must be meeting with the lord of these lands. He’s got some soldiers with him. I don’t think it’s going well. The Kaj—a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair in a braid down his back and a black beard down to his chest—he’s shaking his head. He looks angry. He’s pointing to the other end of the valley. Now he’s mounting his horse. The green-cloaked man is reaching out to him—oh! The Kaj just gave him a cut across the arm with his riding whip! Now he is withdrawing into the keep. But his soldiers are following the two men back to the campsite.”

Reisil fell silent, watching the two men. The group of kidnappers spoke together for several moments, then began to mount up. The soldiers continued to trail behind as they departed the valley.

“They’re leaving and they are not pleased. Two of the horses are lame. They can barely hobble along. They won’t go far, not until they get new mounts.”

Reisil turned her focus to Saljane.

~
You have done well, my
ahalad-kaaslane, she told the goshawk in a deeply affectionate mindvoice.
Keep watch over them and we will come fast as we can.

~
I will watch.

Then Reisil withdrew, finding herself more and more in control of her own mind as she practiced the mental sharing with Saljane.

“I bet they were hoping for replacement horses. That lord wasn’t too keen on their business, though,” Juhrnus said.

“Mekelsek hates my father, and I doubt very much he favors this treaty with Kodu Riik. But he has honor, of a sort. He would not stoop to kidnapping. But neither did he aid her, the bastard.” Kebonsat spat, fury flushing his face. “He’d rather stay out of it altogether. Slippery honor indeed.”

“How far is it to his valley?” Sodur asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not familiar with this part of the mountains. It lies in the western foothills, only four or five days’ hard ride from Vitne Ozols.”

“With those horses lame, we’ve got a chance to catch them before they get there. If that is still where they are going, and if we drive hard,” Sodur said.

“They must go there if they wish to make . . . effective . . . use of Ceriba.” Kebonsat’s voice turned bleak and not one of them didn’t understand what he meant. To force the crown and Kebonsat’s father to abandon the treaty and take up arms again, the violence to Ceriba would have to be severe.

“It wouldn’t be enough, though,” Reisil said in sudden comprehension. “That’s what Kaval and the others from Kallas are for. To sacrifice themselves. They’ll confess to working for Iisand Samir or something like that. With what they plan to do to Ceriba, that would do it.” Even as she said it, Reisil began shaking her head, wanting it not to be true. It was too horrible to be true.

But the small group exchanged a look of bitter understanding, the puzzle pieces settling into dreadful place.
They think they’re patriots. Heroes. Martyrs.
Icy tentacles wrapped Reisil’s spine and she covered her mouth with her hand to catch the scream rising up from her feet.

“It’s a good plan,” Kebonsat said in a strangled voice, his lips white.

“Not good enough,” Juhrnus said, his jaw jutting, his eyes narrowing as he scowled and urged his mount up the trail.

Reisil nodded, feeling her own face hardening with determination.

“Let’s not dally then,” Sodur said, setting off after Juhrnus.

Reisil fell in behind Kebonsat, seeing Ceriba’s face in her mind’s eye. She prayed that her fears would be without foundation, but knew, with a ghastly certainty, that they were not.

 

Two hard day’s riding brought them to Mekelsek Keep.

The four searchers rode down to the lake just before sunset, setting up a sketchy camp. Juhrnus set about pulling several fish from the lake. Esper slithered into the water and caught several quick-finned graylings of his own, while Reisil picketed the horses.

They were a grim, silent group, figuring themselves less than two days behind Ceriba’s captors. But they, too, were in need of new mounts and food. They’d risen before the sun and traveled well into the night for the last two days, scrabbling over steep, treacherous terrain. Fissures yawned wide beside them on the narrow track and ledges crumbled away beneath their weight. The hardy mountain ponies were exhausted. They still had a good chance to catch up with Ceriba’s captors before Vitne Ozols—before her captors killed her—but not without fresh mounts and provisions.

The grim news was that Saljane reported that the kidnappers had found a village that afternoon and had stopped for the night. No doubt they would obtain mounts there and pick up their pace the next day. Each of the four rescuers felt time running away like water out of their hands.

“Will this Mekelsek deal with you?” Sodur asked Kebonsat.

“I don’t know. He’s got three daughters of his own, though. That may help.”

“Shall I come with you?”

Kebonsat considered the other man, then shook his head. “I think it best I go alone. But if there is trouble, I ask that you see to my sister.”

Sodur nodded and watched the other man unroll the tabard he had not worn since departing Kallas. Kebonsat pulled it over his dusty clothing and buckled his sword-belt over it. A black-and-gold diamond pattern circled his chest and trimmed the sleeves and neckline of the indigo cloth. In the center of the diamond pattern two crimson lions leaped at one another. Centered beneath them on the blue field was a three-pronged coronet, also in red. Over his heart was embroidered a sword, point down, indicating Kebonsat’s position as heir to the title.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Sodur asked.

“Mekelsek is unpredictable, with doubtful honor, but he might do for the House Vadonis what he wouldn’t do for me.” Kebonsat shrugged. “It’s a slim chance. But it can’t hurt to remind him of my father’s position. Allying with us could give him prestige in court. I can’t offer any trade settlements or negotiations in my father’s name; I don’t have the authority. But he might choose to hedge his bets against the hope of a reward.” Kebonsat’s lips twisted bitterly. “As if rescuing my sister weren’t sufficient reason for honor.”

“It’s been my experience that politicians neither love nor hate. Interest, not sentiment, directs them,” Sodur observed quietly.

“True. But Mekelsek is no politician. And therein lies my hope. He is a fourth son and a rogue, never expecting to inherit and uninterested in rounds of service, until those standing in the way of his title died—all aboveboard. Illness, the war, a hunting accident. Though if it weren’t for our need, I’d bypass him altogether. He’s volatile and cunning.”

“He drove them off without aid. Perhaps that bodes well for us.”

“Perhaps. But he could have just as easily kept them here.” Kebonsat mounted his horse. “Best to get up there and find out. If I’m not back by morning, go on without me. Be prepared to run in any case. He might not be as accommodating to us as he was to Ceriba’s captors.” The bitter expression he cast at the fortress spoke volumes, but he didn’t spare another look for his companions.

Sodur watched him ride up the road to the gates of the keep, where guards met him. He dismounted and they led away his horse. It was nearly an hour later before he was let inside, the gates clanging shut behind him.

“I don’t like the look of that,” Sodur murmured. “I suggest we do as our noble friend recommends and ready the horses to ride.”

Reisil nodded at him over her shoulder. She’d discovered the Lady had spoken true of her ability to heal. Through just a touch, she sensed illness and pain. If she concentrated, focusing her attention on the animal’s particular problem, the wound seemed to mend itself. But healing leached her of energy. After each session she could hardly move, the drain was so great. More than once she’d fallen asleep in her saddle. She’d resorted to using the herbal stimulant she carried in her pack, but she could not continue much longer in that vein. Her hands trembled constantly and her legs felt like taffy. Darkness gnawed at the edges of her vision and bright spots of color danced always in front of her.

She finished with the last horse, soothing a bruise in his frog, then saddled her mare with fumbling fingers, leaving the cinch loose. She could tighten it in an instant. Then she collapsed next to the fire, pillowing her head on her cloak and falling instantly asleep.

Juhrnus woke her with a rough shake of her shoulder.

“Get up. Someone’s coming.”

She scrambled up at once, shaking her head to clear the grogginess. Since Esper’s illness, Juhrnus had become more thoughtful, less critical. What he thought about in his long silences on the trail, Reisil didn’t know, but he’d stopped his habitual caviling, and had begun acting more civilly. He was by no means friendly, but he no longer tormented her with childish, insolent remarks.

He’d grown up, Reisil thought as she watched him check his weapons—sword, knife and a cudgel, which he took a couple of practice swings with. If committing to her bonding with Saljane had changed the path of her life, then nearly losing his
ahalad-kaaslane
had made Juhrnus mature suddenly into a man. That inner core the Blessed Lady had discerned when she sent him Esper had come shining to the surface.

Inexperienced and young he still might be, but he’d begun to learn compassion, and he’d begun to realize his importance as
ahalad-kaaslane
to the Lady, to Kodu Riik. The knowledge both humbled and strengthened him. He no longer wasted himself on personal insult. Though Reisil didn’t like him much more than she had before, she was learning to respect him. She would have never thought she’d do that.

She heard jingling and the echoing clop of many horses’ hooves on the hard-packed dirt road.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Sodur said. “Are they sending a troop to foist us out, or maybe take us prisoner?”

“Looks like,” Reisil said, peering into the darkness, hearing Juhrnus slipping the bit back into his gelding’s mouth.

Along the moon-brightened road to the fortress came an entire troop of riders, three by three—thirty in all. In the lead rode Mekelsek and another, younger man, and in between they sandwiched Kebonsat. He was too far away to read his expression. Then at the end of the column she caught sight of a string of riderless horses. “Maybe not. They’ve got spare horses with them. He got through to this Mekelsek after all.”

Even so, Juhrnus completed adjusting his gelding’s gear and Sodur and Reisil followed suit, though Reisil was hard-pressed to get her saddle sufficiently tight with her hands shaking as they were. She held them out before her, willing them to be steady. She wasn’t going to be any good for anyone if she didn’t get some sleep soon.

When the riders arrived, the three
ahalad-kaaslane
waited in a semicircle around the fire. Esper crouched on Juhrnus’s shoulder, slitted eyes shining yellow in the firelight, while Lume came to sit beside Sodur. He looked more ragged and unkempt than ever. His thin, stooped figure was unprepossessing, far less so than Upsakes’s fiery presence had been. The frayed hem of his bedraggled cloak drooped unevenly about the shanks of his patched boots. He squinted in his peculiar way, his thinning hair needing a haircut. He looked for all the world like a shabby stray dog.