Red Magic (9 page)

Galvin handed the centaur a large piece of citrus fruit. “This is better for you,” he said.

Brenna eagerly selected a few pieces of fruit for herself. Galvin wondered what she and Wynter had eaten while he slept. Probably little, he thought. The centaur wasn’t a very good hunter; he was a farmer by trade, when he wasn’t gallivanting off with the druid on Harper assignments, a profession that kept him fit and well fed. Galvin noted that Wynter devoured the fruit eagerly, and Brenna was eating hers ravenously.

The councilwoman finished first, glanced at her bags, and then looked to Galvin for assistance.

“I won’t be able to carry all this,” she said, adding a weak smile.

The druid returned her smile, strapped on his scimitar, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and eyed her thin, shapely frame. “Then you’d better decide what to leave behind.”

The sorceress puffed out her chest and readied a verbal assault, but the centaur stepped between her and the druid.

“I’ll help you, Brenna,” Wynter offered.

Galvin looked at the centaur quizzically. The druid had never known him to make such an offer to anyone. Wynter didn’t want anyone to consider him a packhorse.

Openly smiling at the druid, Wynter balanced the rolled canvas tent across his long horse’s back and secured it so it wouldn’t slide off. The maneuver wasn’t easy, but the centaur made it seem effortless. Next he looped the larger of her two bags over his left shoulder.

Galvin was mollified to see that Wynter was at least making her carry one bundle. The druid had learned at a very early age to carry only the bare necessities into the wilderness, as the extra weight only slowed him down. Brenna would have learned that lesson fast if the centaur hadn’t agreed to help. Now she might never learn.

The druid shrugged and set off on the journey toward the First Escarpment. Wynter and Brenna fell in behind him. The druid knew it would take the trio most of the day to reach the imposing cliffs that placed Thay at a higher elevation than the surrounding countryside. Galvin decided to lead Wynter and Brenna north and east, following the River Umber, which would take them straight into Thay. It would be easier to travel along the river because water would be plentiful and the centaur was familiar with the territory. It was the route Wynter had taken when he had fled the country years ago.

As they traveled, the sun climbed and the trees thinned, giving way to a flat plain. Waist-high wild grain waved in the morning breeze and stretched invitingly to a thick stand of pines on the horizon. Galvin listened to the rhythmic swishing noise the grain made against Brenna’s dress as the enchantress made her way through the field behind him. She was lagging behind, and the druid feared if she couldn’t pick up the pace, it could take them twice as long to reach Thay.

The centaur moved effortlessly over the flat ground. He stretched his arms away from his body, nearly parallel to the earth, and threw his head back. Wynter relished the sun and the long hours he spent under its rays on his farm. The warmth felt invigorating on his tanned skin.

Wynter reached down and pulled loose a handful of the crop, examining the grain carefully. He decided it was a variety of wild wheat. He grew something similar to this, although it didn’t grow this well. The centaur wondered why Aglarond hadn’t built farms on this ground. The soil beneath his feet was certainly fertile; the wild grain seemed to thrive on it. Likely the nearness of Thay kept the farmers from settling it, he thought. The threat of the Red Wizards kept a lot of people from doing what they would like.

The River Umber rolled lazily through the plain, cutting a broad course into Aglarond. The Umber regularly overflowed its banks because of the Red Wizard’s rain spells, helping to keep the area fertile. The centaur considered this the only good done by the Red Wizards. Before their interference, sages described this area as a savanna, windswept and subject to frequent droughts.

The trio followed a course nearly parallel to the river, staying well back from its muddy banks. Wynter could tell that the Umber was an old river, since it meandered like a boa constrictor, comfortable in its course. He knew when they came closer to Thay, its path would straighten. The waterfall that fell from the First Escarpment breathed new life into the aging river, giving it a quick, even current—at least for a number of miles.

Near midmorning, the fields ended at the edge of a pine grove. The tall branches provided enough shade to keep out the hottest of the sun’s rays. Farther into the woods, the pines gave way to deciduous trees, mainly walnuts, hickories, and oaks. The travelers paused in the grove for more than an hour. The druid told Wynter the break was needed because Brenna was tiring. While that was true, his real reason was to rest his shoulder. He collected more herbs for another healing poultice and applied it while Wynter gathered a bag of nuts. Feeling much better, Galvin called an end to the break and resumed their trek.

The druid followed a path closer to the riverbank now, where the trees thinned and the land could be navigated more easily. For the next four hours, the councilwoman kept up surprisingly well, negotiating through tall weeds, wrestling with bushes that seemed to clutch at her dress, and slogging her way through wide patches of mud where the river had overflowed its bank and then receded. However, about midafternoon, when she was concentrating on the tricky footing in some muddy ground, she neglected to see a low-hanging branch. Wynter and Galvin had sidestepped it, but she walked right into it blindly, giving her head a good banging and somehow managing to fasten her braids securely to the thick foliage.

“Damn!” she cursed, dropping her satchel in a puddle and pulling with both hands to try to free her hair. “I hate this horrible, gods-forsaken place!” The Harpers turned to see one of her braids uncoil from around her head. It was still obstinately attached to the branch, and it looked like she was playing tug-o-war with the tree, using her hair for the rope. Galvin watched with amusement. She would eventually succeed, but the tree was putting up a good fight.

Wynter trotted to Brenna’s side, holding the branch steady so she could tug the braid loose. Her fingers worked furiously, pulling and fraying the braid and angering her even more. Finally it came loose, and she stood red-faced next to her muddy bag, eyeing her mud-soaked hem.

“Damn!” she swore again, forgetting her cultivated manners and firmly swatting the tree branch.

“That’s enough,” the druid stated, walking toward Brenna and Wynter. “No need to take out your frustration on the tree.”

“Oh, no?” she said sarcastically, batting at the branch again. “I’m tired, I’m wet, I’m dirty, and I look horrible.” She struggled with the braid, trying to twine it back about her head, but the gold clasp used to fasten it was missing. “Damn!”

She moved to strike the branch a third time, but the druid’s arm shot out and his hand closed firmly about her wrist.

“I said that’s enough.”

Brenna fumed and glared at Galvin. Wrenching her arm free, she fell to her knees and began feeling about among the ferns for the clasp.

“Let’s move on,” Galvin urged as he scanned the ground and spotted the glint of something metal—her hair clasp-in a puddle. “There it is. Grab it and let’s get going.”

The sorceress, still on her hands and knees, looked up at him haughtily, then glanced back down at the puddle. “You’re so kind to help me find it,” she said sarcastically.

“So uncommonly kind.” She stretched forward and plunged her fingers into the puddle, retrieving the clasp, which was partly covered with mud. She tried to clean the clasp in the murky water, but the mud was lodged in the intricate filigree work and wouldn’t wash out.

Wynter bent forward and offered her a hand to help her up. Ignoring it, she rose, then looked about for her satchel, which was sitting in another puddle. Picking up the bag, she swung it clumsily over her shoulder, causing mud to drip down her back and spray over Wynter’s chest. Angry and puffing, she started to follow the bank to catch up to the druid.

Quickly reaching his side, she thrust out an arm and grabbed his shoulder. “We’re stopping right here until I clean up,” she said firmly. When he shook his head from side to side, she added, “You’ll just have to wait for me. That’s that.”

Her ultimatum delivered, the councilwoman dropped her bag, stuffed her hair clasp in a pocket, and started toward the river.

The druid turned toward the centaur and grimaced. Galvin noticed that Wynter was keeping his distance from the woman. Safe, the druid observed, but the safe approach wasn’t always the best—especially when he was in a hurry.

“We’re not waiting,” the druid said simply, expecting Brenna to accede to his decision. Instead, she ignored him and bent to unlace her boots. Determined, the druid strode purposely toward her.

“Galvin, don’t…” the centaur began.

But the druid was not about to be slowed down by a pacifist centaur and a politician who was overly concerned about her appearance. In a handful of steps, Galvin reached Brenna before she could step out of her boots, grabbed her about the waist, and threw her over his good shoulder. She kicked and struggled, her fists beating futilely against his chest and her knees bludgeoning his back. She reminded the druid of a deer he had pulled out of a mud bog last month.

Galvin held her fast and resumed his trek along the bank of the river, wishing he would have grabbed her the other way so her face was behind him.

Wynter, slack-jawed at the performance, fell in behind them.

The sorceress continued to kick and squirm, even though she realized his strength would prevail. Furious, she tried another tactic. “Wynter, help me!” she gasped as she continued to pummel the druid’s chest.

“Galvin,” the centaur admonished. “Put her down.”

The druid tarried only long enough to scowl at the centaur. Then he lengthened his stride. Wynter came alongside them on the side toward the stream, watching the river and avoiding Brenna’s angry gaze.

“She’s out of her element, Galvin,” Wynter said softly, watching a large leaf swirl in the current, “but at least she’s trying.” He brushed the mud specks off his chest, then finally turned to glance at the sorceress. She groaned as one of her boots fell free and hit the ground behind her.

“I hate you!” she sputtered at Galvin.

Galvin ignored her and looked up at the centaur. “She’s very trying. But at least this way we’ll make better time.”

An hour later they stopped to rest. Galvin dumped Brenna unceremoniously amidst a patch of tall grass. Wynter watched the sorceress right herself and sit cross-legged on the ground, fuming. She tried to pick the caked mud from her skirt hem. Her face was red from anger. She was exhausted from struggling with the pigheaded druid.

Brenna’s limbs ached. Most of her exercise back in Aglarond had consisted of strolling from her home through the city streets to the council chambers or the wizards guild’s library. She took a rented carriage to market and to various civic functions, and she was silently cursing herself now for being so out of shape physically. Being one of the youngest members of a council dominated by elves and half-elves, she had argued that she was the natural choice to travel cross-country with the Harper duo. She hadn’t thought it would be so physically demanding. From her perspective, Galvin and Wynter looked the same as they had before the trip started, and that frustrated her all the more. No, Galvin looked even better, as his shoulder was healing.

The sorceress said nothing to them for quite a while, and although the druid usually enjoyed the quiet, he found this silence uncomfortable. He determined he had made a mistake in letting her come along in the first place and would rectify the situation now.

Trying to act civilized, he broke the silence. “Brenna,” he began, “we can’t turn back now, but if you don’t think you can make it, I can leave you along the bank a few miles up the river.” The druid knew where a stream branched off from the river there; merchants regularly traveled downstream to reach the villages to the south. He was certain the enchantress could arrange transportation with a passing merchant. The area was relatively free of large predators and should be safe. He guessed she wouldn’t be on her own for more than a few hours.

“You’re not leaving me behind!” she snapped. “I have to go to Thay. Thay is a threat to Aglarond. Not that you’d really care about that.”

“I understand.”

“I bet you do,” she spat. “You spend your life in the woods trying to understand animals, not people.”

“I understand Thay,” Galvin answered, avoiding her eyes and leaning back on the grass to stare into the sky. The druid knew about the evil country because he had studied it, had questioned merchants journeying from the major Thayvian cities, and had spent long evenings with Wynter discussing the country’s ills.

“I might as well be talking to a parrot. The conversation would be better.” She stuck out her bottom lip and glared at the druid.

“The Harpers are interested in Thay, too,” Wynter offered. “This mission is important to both our organization and Aglarond.” The centaur looked at Galvin. “We should let her in on the plan,” Wynter advised. The druid continued to watch the sky, and the centaur took his lack of objection as agreement.

“We’ll pose as Thayvians,” Wynter began, noting that Brenna seemed to be calming down a little. “Centaurs walk freely in the streets of Thay, and humans are the dominant race. We’ll have no trouble.”

“And?” Brenna was curious.

“Then we listen for rumors, study the current political situation, and gather as much information as we can about this Red Wizard Maligor or any other Red Wizard who might make trouble against Aglarond. The more we learn, the better the Harpers can deal with any threat.”

“That’s it? Just gather information?” The sorceress’s ire was rising again. “I thought we were going to do something.”

“Getting information is doing something,” Wynter countered. “The Harpers can’t act in force unless we know what we’re up against.”

“And you think posing as Thayvians will get us that information?” Brenna returned.