Point of Hopes

Rathe nodded, but didn’t know what to say. No one, to his knowledge, had ever viewed him in quite the light Eslingen was describing. And he wasn’t even fully sure what he was feeling, faced with Eslingen’s revelation. There was a small knot in him at the thought of Eslingen and Adriana; for some reason, he hadn’t thought Eslingen favored women. Not that he’d any reason to think that, nor any reason for this small surge of what he strongly suspected was an irrational envy.

The light shifted then, and he looked up to see b’Estorr and Denizard in the doorway, stepping carefully through the pile of children now playing jacks on the stone outside the door. b’Estorr’s expression was carefully neutral; Rathe had known him for a number of years now, and knew he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the magists’ news.

Eslingen got up, fetched another pitcher and two more mugs. “You look like you need it,” he said, then topped up his own mug. “And if you do, we’re going to. What is it?”

Denizard dropped onto the bench beside Eslingen. “Nothing dire, hells, nothing we didn’t expect, but it’s a little hard to hear it. Over the past few weeks, the people here have heard what sounds like an army on the move–and these people know what army movements sound like. They were nervous, naturally enough, and went looking, but they didn’t find much sign of them, just wagon tracks. But armies don’t travel with so many wagons, so I understand.”

“There’s only a couple of people who say they saw anything,” b’Estorr said. “And what they saw, well, they said it was eerie–wagon after wagon, maybe four or five at a time, heading north but skirting the town. Aside from the noise the wagons made, and the horses, it was quiet. No voices, no calling, no singing, no orders… just the wagons at twilight, and silence.”

Rathe shivered in spite of himself, and b’Estorr shook his head at the image he had inadvertently conjured up. “Then, yesterday, some people saw a group of men riding hard, didn’t stop here. One of them had a child with him on the saddlebow. A girl, they thought, from the hair.”

“Asheri.” Rathe dropped his head in his hands, splaying his fingers through his hair and tightening them, as though the pain would make him think more clearly.

“On the good side,” b’Estorr went on, “the word is the Coindarel’s men are camped by Anedelle. That’s only two hours from Mailhac.”

Rathe nodded, barely listening. It was a relief to know he was right, that they were on the right road, but it didn’t take away the greater fear. Or the nagging certainty that none of this would have happened if he hadn’t sent Asheri to the fair. He looked at Eslingen. “Is there any point in pressing on tonight?”

Eslingen made a face. “Given that we know where we’re going, that we don’t have to track these people, I would say yes, but the horses are tired, we’re tired. If this rider suspects he’s being followed, we might well ride into an attack.”

Denizard nodded. “A lot of the people around here will be Mailhac tenants or their kin.”

“How far is it to Mailhac from here?” b’Estorr asked.

“Just under a day,” the other magist answered.

b’Estorr nodded, and reached for a pocket almanac. “I think we have time,” he said, after a moment. “The moon isn’t at its most favorable for the next few days, Asheri’s stars make her valuable for several of the final steps, which is probably why they’re hurrying, but they’re also in opposition to the current positions.”

“And if we press on tonight, we’ll arrive there early tomorrow morning,” Denizard said. “She’ll know we hurried. We don’t want to make de Mailhac suspicious. Arriving in the afternoon is likely to seem more normal to her.”

“If anything does, these days,” Eslingen muttered. “I say we risk it. We spend the night here, we get an early start, we’re rested, the horses are rested, and we don’t arouse de Mailhac’s suspicions.”

“And she’s going to be wary enough of us, anyway,” Rathe agreed. “Right, then, we’ll spend the night.” The decision made, he felt more helpless than ever, and he pushed himself away from the table. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to turn in.”

“Not a bad idea,” Eslingen started to rise, stopped by a hand on his arm. He looked down at b’Estorr, who shook his head slightly, and Eslingen grimaced in comprehension. “We’ll be up a little later. I want to check on the horses.”

Rathe, who had missed the exchange, just nodded and headed back towards the stairs, grateful for Eslingen’s understanding, anxious for a few moments to himself, to let the fears run wild and then to put them away, firmly, and for all. Tomorrow they would be at Mailhac. Then it was only a matter of time before everything was resolved.

11

« ^ »

the next morning dawned rainy, and the air smelled more than ever of the coming autumn. Rathe glared at drizzle beyond the tiny windows as he shaved and dressed, but got his impatience under control before he climbed down the creaking stairs to the main room. They would still reach Mailhac by the end of the day, and that was all that mattered. Eslingen was standing by one of the windows in the common room, looking out at the grey, wet sky. He shook his head, hearing the other’s approach, but didn’t turn.

“We may not make as good time today,” he said mournfully. “Seidos’s Horse, I hate wet travel.”

“I suppose the weather had to break sometime,” Rathe answered, more philosophically than he felt. He hoped the rain wasn’t an omen, and dismissed the thought as being foolish beyond all permission. He accepted a cup of thick, smoky‑smelling tea from the yawning waiter and joined Denizard at one of the square tables, wrapping his fingers around the warmed pottery.

“It couldn’t have waited another day?” When there was no answer, Eslingen drew himself away from the window and sat back down opposite Rathe. “It could be worse,” he said. “It could be snow.”

Rathe just looked at him. Eslingen raised his hands in defense. “I’ve seen it, snow this time of year, and not that much further north than we are now. Miserable marching it was, too.”

“Sounds like the Chadroni Gap, and from the sound of it, you were in one of the higher parts,” b’Estorr said, from the doorway. He shook the rain from his cloak, hung it near the porcelain stove in one corner of the common room.

“Yes, well, that’s not so very far north of here, is it?”

“There’s north, and north,” b’Estorr agreed with a shrug. He sat down at the table, wrapping his hands around a cup, and glanced at Rathe. “I couldn’t have asked for better weather. If it’s stormy at Mailhac, and I think it will be, from what they told me at the temple, there’s not going to be any work done in the mine today.”

Rathe allowed himself a breath of relief and gave the necromancer a nod of thanks. That was good news–it could only be good news: whatever delayed the magist’s work gave them more time to find the children, and to free them before they had outlived their usefulness.

“How so?” Eslingen asked.

“The wind and rain carry too much corruption,” b’Estorr answered, “and this magist has taken too much trouble this far to spoil it all by carelessness. It may not be a pleasant ride today, but that’s all to the good.”

Denizard made a noise that might have been disparagement or agreement. “Are we ready, then?”

Rathe nodded, stood up, setting aside his half‑finished cup of tea. “I’d like to get there before nightfall. I want to see what this place looks like on first impression.”

Eslingen lifted an eyebrow. “Spoken like a soldier.”

Rathe looked at him, gri

As Rathe had feared, the riding was worse than the past few days had been. The dry dust of the roads had been turned overnight into a thin mud, and the wind blew chill from the northeast, driving the rain through the thin summer fabrics of their garments. When they hit the first of the true foothills, the pack horses began to labor, and they had to slow their pace to keep together on the narrow track. Eslingen swore softly and steadily as the horses’ hooves slithered and caught on the rock‑strewn mud, and the horses seemed to take confidence from the murmured words, dragging themselves and their riders up the ever‑steeper roads. He was the only one who spoke; the others kept silent, faces tucked close to their chests, not wanting to get a mouthful of the cold rain. The first sunset was almost on them by the time they came opposite a massive boss of stone where the track tilted down again, curving out of sight around the side of the hill. Denizard pulled up beneath a stand of wind‑twisted trees and let the others draw abreast. She took a breath and gestured.