Dragonfang (38 page)

The stable master scratched his head. ‘I’ve nowt this day but two old nags not worth the cost of carting them to the glue factory. Awful sorry I am. Against my religion, you might say, to turn away honest folk’s custom.’

‘There are no other stables in Argentia?’ Daretor asked, disheartened.

‘None to suit your needs, stranger. From what you say, you’ll be wanting a mount that is fleet of foot, with some endurance. The ideal horse for you and your lady would be a Delbrian Marker and there are few of those about, let me tell you.’

Daretor said, ‘But there are
some
about?’

‘Oh, aye. You took my meaning right enough. Calabias up at the brewery has a clutch of racing Markers that would make your eyes water. But he’d never part with them. He’d sooner sell you his children.’

‘How fast can his children go?’

The stable master stared at Daretor for a long moment, then burst out laughing, swatting his huge thighs till tears poured down his face. ‘Mister, that’s a good one, that is. You mind me repeatin’ it?’

‘Not at all. Thank you for your time,’ Daretor said, and passed the stable master a few coppers. The man bit into one, testing its authenticity before pocketing them.

Daretor found Calabias in his office, overlooking a training yard in which three of his prize Markers were being put through their paces. Daretor broached the reason for his visit. Calabias stared at him blankly.

‘Let me understand you correctly. You want me to sell you two of my Markers, is that right?’ the man asked.

‘For a reasonable sum, yes.’ Perhaps this was going to be easier than he’d thought.

Calabias pulled a funnel-shaped device connected to a hollow tube that disappeared into a hole in the floor and spoke into it.

‘Briney, get up here,’ he shouted into the funnel. Daretor heard a tinny answering voice. ‘I’ve a fool I want you to throw out on his dummart arse!’

Daretor glared at Calabias. He made to grab the man then remembered whose body he was inhabiting. Calabias sneered at him.

‘Lay one finger on me, and my man will feed you to one of the smelters. Now get out of my sight.’

Daretor turned and left without a word. He met Briney on the way up. The man eyed him suspiciously. Daretor gestured back to Calabias’s office. ‘Better get up there. That mad fool’s giving your boss a wagon load of grief.’

Briney grunted and hurried past.

Back at the tavern, Daretor explained the situation to Jelindel. She stared at him, biting her lower lip.

‘Well, as I see it, our hand is already tipped. Either we come by these horses fairly, or we don’t.’

‘And if we don’t,’ Daretor said, ‘everybody will know it was us. Horse theft is a hanging offence.’

‘Unless,’ said Jelindel, ‘they don’t know the horses are missing.’

Daretor eyed her uneasily. ‘I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.’

‘It’s easy enough,’ Jelindel said, her eyes sparkling with ready humour. ‘You and Jabez Thull pulled off a drunken stupour quite admirably once before.’

That afternoon Jelindel had her wounds salved and bandaged, then she bought provisions for the journey. Meanwhile, Daretor purchased two nags at an exorbitant price from a puzzled stable
master and lodged them at the tavern’s barn. To the delight of the locals, he and Jelindel then proceeded to get roaring drunk and almost had to be helped up to their room. Indeed, as Jelindel was not travelling as a boy, several gruff miners made it quite clear that they’d like to help her to her bed, and farther. She managed to decline their assistance without starting any fights.

Once in their room, Daretor and Jelindel suddenly became sober again. Daretor listened at the door to make sure none of the nosy and intoxicated patrons lingered outside. He gave Jelindel the all-clear and made sure the door was bolted.

‘Part of me wants to spend the night here,’ sighed Jelindel softly, luxuriating on the feather-down mattress.

‘Part of me is rather interested, too,’ replied Daretor. ‘The rest of me thinks it is a very bad idea, however.’

Jelindel stretched one more time, then got up. ‘Logic wins every time. One of these days I’m going to do something truly foolish and follow my heart.’

With their few possessions packed, Jelindel opened the south-facing window overlooking an alleyway, and climbed out onto a drainpipe. She rotated her shoulder and stretched her injured arm. Instead of going down, however, she climbed laboriously up to the roof. Daretor followed moments later.

There they waited for several minutes, listening for any sign that they had been observed. They heard nothing but a startled owl. Their impression was that they had not been seen, but that was only an impression.

A few miles away, several tall-masted ships lay at anchor in a cove sheltered from the sea by a low wall of tumbled masonry.

‘The land was not always as it is now,’ Fa’red said, indicating
the remnants of an ancient causeway. ‘Yonder Algon Mountains once lay at the bottom of the sea, and many a fine city and its inhabitants reside now where only lobsters and fish visit them.’

‘So you say,’ the Preceptor said. He found it difficult to attend to the mage’s words; his interest being with what was
now
, rather than with what had been, unless it could be turned to his advantage. ‘What is taking them so long?’ he snapped, surveying the army that was slowly swelling on the damp sand. Long boats plied back and forth to the ships, transferring soldiers and cavalry, and the wagons required to carry supplies.

‘Patience, Preceptor. Rather take them here than in D’loom. The fools have walked right into our hands.’

‘Fa’red. Every minute I feel those wretches slipping
further
from my grasp, not
closer!
’

Fa’red laid a tentative hand on the Preceptor’s arm. ‘You need not fear, my lord. Obstacles of many kinds lie in their path, and according to my spy, the girl is injured. You will have the pentacle gems soon enough. Your other army is already moving from Passendof to the Marisa River to cut them off. Many threads are drawing together. And, after all, they are but two.’

The Preceptor scowled. ‘I had her in my grasp, Fa’red. In my grasp!’

‘And you let her go. Yes, you have told me often enough. Though you have never told me why I was not summoned, nor why a senile old truthseer was used instead.’

‘Senile he may have been, but there was still power in him.’ The Preceptor kept his eyes on the shore. After a pause, he said, ‘I see there are leaks in my court. Who told you of the truthseer?’

Fa’red also stared at the shore, where flickering lights dotted the beach like sparkling fireflies. The silence lasted ten seconds.

‘So be it. You will have your secrets, as I will have mine. But
mark my words, dear mage, much depends upon the outcome of this venture. I am already sorely overstretched. Amassing this army leaves ten dozen garrisons with barely a cook and a door guard. If something goes wrong, Passendof, Baltoria, and Hamaria will revolt. I am taking a great risk.’

‘From such gambles are great rewards gathered,’ Fa’red answered.

A bell began to toll on the beach.

‘It is begun then,’ the Preceptor said, breathing deeply. ‘To the boats, Fa’red. To the boats.’

Jelindel and Daretor entered Calabias’s stables from the roof, lowering themselves by rope to the straw-strewn floor. Her cloaking spell had worked against the stables’ guard, but the horses were not so easily fooled. One stamped its hoof at the alien smells; another kicked back into the stalls as it spied two shadowy objects appearing from the loft.

Jelindel and Daretor quickly selected the two least spooked Delbrian Markers and saddled them in silent haste.

Once ready, they led the horses to the rear of the stables where a blank wall confronted them. Jelindel climbed on her horse and, with Daretor’s help, lashed herself to the saddle so that she would not fall.

Daretor took the reins of both horses in his hand. ‘I’m ready.’

‘You remember the route?’

‘You do your part and I will do mine.’ He gently rubbed her thigh.

Jelindel smiled fleetingly then spoke a complex charm, inscribing a shape in the air as she did so. She built the spell slowly and carefully and when she was sure it was ready, she uttered the word that activated it. Immediately, she slumped into
unconsciousness and would have fallen had it not been for the bindings that held her to the mare.

At the same time, part of the wall vanished, leaving a high arched doorway. Daretor quickly led the two horses through the gaping hole and into a dark alleyway that ran behind Argentia’s close-packed buildings.

The moment he passed through, the spell evaporated with a dull pop and the wall became whole again. But all of Jelindel’s strength did not return at once. She remained groggy and disoriented for some time.

An hour later they were outside the town and riding swiftly on their way. ‘How long will the changing spell hold?’

Jelindel laughed. ‘I’m afraid it’s permanent. I tapped some of the energy of the gems to effect that, rather than my own life-force. Calabias will soon realise that his horses are no better than the stable master’s nags. Yet to others, they will appear to be his Markers.’

‘But they will never win any more races.’

‘That’s true, but the poor things will probably have a brighter future than the rather sticky one they were destined for. Poor racers they may be, but Calabias’s pride will never allow him to destroy them.’

They both laughed and rode on into the darkness.

Two days later they reached the Marisa River, a hundred miles east of Tol. They gazed down at the wide waters from a high bluff: the current was fast and flowing towards Passendof, where they would veer north for the final dash across Bravenhurst to Sezel.

‘Notice anything?’ asked Jelindel.

Daretor looked along the water. ‘No river traffic, except for the Passendof barges. That’s not normal.’

‘Which means the Preceptor’s men control the river upstream and down. How does he keep finding us?’

‘I am open to suggestions,’ Daretor said, gloomily. ‘He’s trying to box us in, and I very much fear he is succeeding. He knows we will make for the north.’

‘Then we must convince him that he is wrong.’

‘Fa’red is with him. He will not be so easily fooled,’ Daretor pointed out.

‘On the contrary, Fa’red is the key to fooling the Preceptor.’

Daretor closed his eyes in mild exasperation. ‘What is going on in that brain of yours now?’

‘A half day’s ride north of here is one of the Preceptor’s garrisons. If they were to spot us heading north and give chase –’

‘They would send a message saying we had been seen making north.’ Daretor smiled for a moment, then shook his head. ‘It will not work. Fa’red is not so simple.’

‘No, he isn’t, and he doesn’t trust the Preceptor’s intelligence. So we will pass the garrison heading north, allow them to give chase, then turn back south as if we are heading for the river again. At that point we will secretly turn north again, but this time we will make sure that only the one who follows us sees …’

Daretor spun around, gazing back the way they had come. ‘Who follows us? I’ve not seen anyone.’

‘Yet one does. I hazard a guess that it is Larachel.’ She shrugged. ‘I wish I could control these … instincts I keep getting. They come and go as they please. No matter. Should he be in the employ of Fa’red, it would make sense. He has the deadmoon aura about him.’

‘So let Fa’red’s own “eyes” give him false report?’

‘Hopefully,’ Jelindel said.

They crossed the river that night. This time even Daretor thought he saw a dark shape break from the farther shore and plunge into the river close to where they themselves had crossed. They did not wait to confirm if they were being followed, but sped north as fast as the Delbrian Markers would carry them.

Midnight found them a mile from the garrison town of Obly. From this point they could see the watch, bearing flaming torches, patrolling the battlements of a dark watchtower which thrust up from the town’s centre like a finger aimed at the sky. Stopping briefly to fortify themselves with food and a brief rest (and to allow their shadow to catch up), they remounted their horses and rode down the sloping road, straight into the main street of Obly.

Almost at once, a patrol spotted them and gave the cry. Soon the town was full of shouting, and lights sprang up in all directions. Jelindel and Daretor did not slow their pace, however, and galloped like the wind through the town and out the other side before any serious opposition could be mounted.

Pursuit was not long in coming, and soon they heard the pounding of many hooves on the road behind them. They veered off the main road and headed east. As they had hoped, their pursuers were too canny to miss their trail in the dark and go astray. Not only did they stay on their trail but they closed the gap considerably.

Bouncing on the back of his galloping mare, Daretor managed to gasp out a question. ‘Was it part of your plan that they catch us and skewer us
before
we give them the slip, or after, Jelli?’

‘Sarcasm ill becomes you, Daretor,’ she laughed.

They reached a forest and plunged into it. A little way in they encountered a narrow stream. Here they quickly dismounted
and, leading their horses by their reins and talking to them gently to quiet their nerves, moved back in the direction they had come.

‘I am betting it is too dark in the forest even for their best trail-finders,’ Jelindel said.

They soon reached the forest edge, though at a point further east from where the road entered it. They were just in time to see their pursuers pass in amongst the dark trees, their horses’ hoof-beats almost immediately muffled.

‘Let’s go,’ Jelindel said. They remounted and moved at a light canter back south again. For over an hour they kept to this course before slowly veering round in a long, slow circle that saw them heading north once more. They stopped several times and, under the cover of her thick cloak, Jelindel checked her map and the tiny inscriptions that provided local information. On one such occasion she expelled a deep sigh of relief.