A Cast of Stones (27 page)

Sven looked in his direction as he entered the pool of light cast by the fire. “There he is, girl.” He took another bite of cheese. “Probably been out swinging that stick of his in the dark again. Don't know why he's even here. It's not his turn for duty.”

Rokha looked him full in the face for the first time in days. “I don't think anyone's going to steal father's grain tonight,” she said. Her smile looked forced. One side of her face showed red in the firelight. “Why don't we go for a walk?”

His fury at Ru's handiwork made it difficult to think. With an effort he took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. He needed to keep from arousing her suspicion. What would he say if he hadn't overheard their conversation?

“How come you've been avoiding me?” The question came out before he realized he'd spoken.

Rokha shrugged and looked away. Then she took his hand and moved to lead him away from the supply wagon. “Let's check the picket line.”

Errol didn't move. Ru's daughter tugged on his arm, but he resisted. Somewhere in the shadows near the horses, he felt sure, Skorik watched. They needed to find someplace where they couldn't be overheard.

“The moon's up,” he said. “Why don't we get away from the smell of horses for a change?”

She looked as if she were on the edge of refusing but glanced once in the direction of Ru's wagon and, after a brief pause, nodded assent. As soon as they left the circle of light cast by
the campfire, her fingers wiggled out from his and her hand dropped away.

The hair on his neck stiffened with the sensation of being followed, but when he turned as if to check their position, he could see no evidence of the first. Errol and Rokha walked side by side, their shoulders nearly touching, but Ru's daughter wrapped herself in chilly silence that left Errol floundering. He cast about for some topic that would distract her from her father's orders—whatever they might have been—but every idea seemed to lead inexorably back to her servitude and his unspoken bondage.

“Your father gave me a gold crown as a bonus,” he said finally. He forced a chuckle. “The last time I saw that much money, I planned on using it to stay drunk on Cilla's ale for a week. Now I hardly know what to do with it.”

“Who's Cilla?”

Errol sighed. A clear image of Cilla proved more difficult to recall by the day. Even now, as he tried, her features blurred, became a combination pulled from Myrrha and Rokha. “She's a girl who runs an inn back in the village I'm from.”

“A girl . . . running an inn? Is she your age?”

“I suppose. Maybe a little older. Her father—“

“Do you love her?” Rokha asked.

No one had ever asked him the question before.
Love?
Most of the guards spoke of love as something men and women did rather than how they felt. The church talked about love, but that was usually about Deas's love for mankind or vice versa. He didn't have the faintest notion of what love between a man and a woman meant.

“I don't think so,” he said. “Mostly, I just wanted to make sure she gave me enough ale to keep my thoughts and memories at bay.”

Rokha gave a small, sad-sounding chuckle at this. “Typical man. Only out for what you can get from the poor girl. Now she's back there pining away for you.”

Rokha made sport of him. Her tone wasn't unkind, yet her
words held currents and undertones that eluded him. “Not likely. I think she looked at me the way most people look at a stray cat or dog that's ended up on their doorstep. She gave me ale and let me sleep on the floor of the inn in exchange for pretty shoddy work on my part.”

“I think she might be surprised at how much you've changed,” Rokha said. “You don't sound like the person you describe. If you went back to your village, she'd notice you in a much different way.” She sounded almost angry.

He shrugged, but the darkness swallowed the gesture. “I don't think I'll be going back, at least, not for a long time.”

“What do you think about me, Errol?” Her words had barely the strength behind them to make it to his ears.

His mouth went dry. He licked his lips, trying to think of something to say. What did he think? “I didn't know a woman could be like you.”

“Is that bad?” The challenge in her voice was unmistakable.

He rushed to answer. “No, not at all. I never knew a woman could be fierce and beautiful and smart before I met you. Every time I see you I think of a hawk, beautiful and deadly.”

Her laugh, deep and throaty, sounded surprised. “I think I like that.”

Errol took a quick breath. “Or my knees go weak thinking about the way you kissed me.”

The laugh cut off as if it had never been. “I wish I hadn't.”

He took a deep breath. This would probably be as good a time as any. “Because your father wants to use you to keep me with the caravan?”

A small quick intake of breath. “You know?”

“I overheard the two of you arguing tonight. When he struck you I wanted to go after him with my staff.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “That would be a very bad idea, Errol. Father is deadly with a sword.”

Ru had to be in his midforties. “Still?”

“I saw him spar with Skorik once,” she said. “I'd never seen
him lose or come close to losing before then. Father moved like something out of the stories.”

He nodded, but in his heart he resolved to match Naaman Ru one day. He leaned toward Rokha, felt her stiffen in the darkness when he touched her shoulder. “I can't stay with the caravan once we reach Erinon. Would your father force me to stay?”

She sighed. “I think so. You've become the key to his wealth.”

“Will you ask your father to let me go?”

He felt rather than saw the shake in Rokha's shoulders. “Daughters do not defy their fathers.” Her voice broke, and she gave a small sniff.

So Ru planned to keep him against his will. How long would it be before the compulsion gripped him? What would happen if he couldn't obey? Errol shuddered. He didn't want to find out. A sudden gust of wind chilled him. The hair on the back of his neck rose in protest, and the sensation of being watched reasserted itself.

How well did Skorik see in the dark?

“I think we should go back,” he said.

“What?” She sounded surprised.

“You can't help me without angering your father. I'm sorry. I was wrong to ask. I hadn't thought that out.” He pitched his voice so that his next words wouldn't travel more than a couple of feet. “And the longer we stay here in the dark, the worse Skorik will think of you. He's out there hiding in the shadows, wondering what we're doing.”

“You're serious, aren't you?” she asked. “You really mean to go back to camp now?”

“I said so, didn't I?”

She laughed, and a hand came up to touch his face. “You're a surprising man, Errol Stone. Here we are, alone in the dark where no one can see. You have it in your power to take liberties with me, with my father's blessing, and yet you refuse to take advantage of the opportunity.” A hint of a growl crept into her voice. “I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented.”

“So that's why you've been ignoring me?” he asked. “You
thought I was going to use you because your father wants to keep me with the caravan?” Laughter bubbled up inside of him. “If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure I'll regret the lost opportunity later.”

She took his hand and pulled him to the ground. “Skorik will report back to my father everything he's heard and seen,” she whispered. She put her mouth close to his ear. “I need you to help me prove I've been a dutiful daughter.” Her breath fell on his skin like a caress, and he shivered.

Her hand slid up his back, knotted in his hair. With her other hand she pushed him back until he lay on the ground, then covered his face with her own. “Thank you, Errol.”

“You're wel—” Her lips found his, and for a moment their kiss stretched interminably.

And ended all too soon.

When they parted, he rose and turned to go, but she caught his arm. “I will sow a seed of doubt in Father's mind if I can. If the trading houses discover he's used a reader against them, they'll have him killed.”

“Thank you.”

Two days later, under a lowering sky, the caravan moved west through Ambridge and approached Four Crossings. Too small to be considered one of the great cities, it sat on the crossroads that led to Port City to the east, Liester to the south, and Scarritt to the north.

The hint of salt hung in the air and at infrequent moments he heard the cry of gulls. Ten leagues remained to the coast, where ships waited to take them and their grain to the capital.

Where the conclave of readers waited.

Skorik led them along the highway that skirted Four Crossings, and when they reached the crossroads, the wagons turned south, to Leister.

Away from Erinon.

Ru intended to take a lesser price on the grain in order to keep Errol from reaching the capital. He pulled the reins, brought Midnight to a stop, and then heard a familiar growl behind him.

“Stay in formation, boy,” Skorik said.

Errol jerked the reins, turning Midnight to face the first. “Why aren't we going to Erinon?” he demanded.

“The last guard doesn't ask questions of the caravan master, the first, or anyone else for that matter. Now get back in formation or I'll dock your pay.”

It came to this moment. Errol would have to leave the protection of the caravan behind and journey on to Erinon alone.
So be it.
He inclined his head toward the first. “Please tell Master Ru that I thank him for the opportunity to work as his guard, but I must continue to Erinon. He can keep my pay.”

He turned Midnight again and set the horse's head toward Four Crossings and away from Ru's caravan.

A weight concussed against the back of his head. The ground came up at him as he pitched forward from his saddle.

Something hard bumped against his face. Again. He opened his eyes, tried to focus and found he couldn't because Ru's bunk was mere inches from his face. The wagon jounced, and his head bounced up once more. He stiffened and caught himself before smacking back into the floor. His skull throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

Errol sat up, probed beneath his hair with his free hand, and quickly pulled it away when his fingers grazed the spot Skorik had hit. No blood, but it was a wonder he could see straight. Ru's wagon lurched again.

The bunk offered convenient handholds, and he made use of them, pulling himself upright until he was able to take the three small steps to the door.

It was locked from the outside.

Naaman Ru meant to keep him with the caravan by force.

 20 
Lotmaker

T
HE HOURS STRETCHED.
Through the small window on one side of the wagon he could see the sun dipping toward the horizon, streaking wispy clouds with orange and red. The caravan would stop soon, if not at a village, then along the roadside. A village would be easier. Most of the small towns allotted ground for the merchants to use outside the local inns, gladly given in exchange for the coin the guards brought with them. A tug in his gut tracked the miles they'd moved away from Erinon.

The wagon took a series of sharp turns and then stopped with a creak of axles and the jingle of horse tack. Noises sounded without, and then the door opened. In the dim light of dusk, Errol saw Skorik and Ru waiting at the door.

“Come out, Errol,” Ru smiled. “I want to plan our strategy for selling our grain at Leister.”

Skorik's hand rested on his sword hilt. Behind them the rest of the guards busied themselves with the chores that went into making camp. Errol stepped from the wagon. A row of cottages with thatched roofs stretched away from the caravan. Camp
would be easy to set up. The village would provide water and feed for the horses as well as ale and food for the guards.

He probably wouldn't be able to get anywhere near the inns. “I can't help you, Ru.”

The faces of the two men darkened, but Ru's voice kept its cheerful tone. “Of course you can, my boy. Just keep doing what you did at Dronfeld.”

“How long do you intend to keep me prisoner?”

A glint came into the caravan master's eye, and his smile hardened. “As long as it takes. With our combined abilities I can establish my own trading house in a matter of months. Skorik here will run my caravans, and in a few years I can build an organization that spans the whole of the kingdom. I'll have factors in every major city and more wealth than even the Weir family.”

Errol shook his head. The caravan master's greed was making him insane. “Someone will notice you always end up on the right side of the trade. They'll come looking, and when they find you've been using a reader, they'll kill you. If they want to make you suffer, they'll let the other merchants have you first.”

Ru cocked his head as if considering Errol's argument, but his eyes remained spellbound. “They won't do anything without proof. As long as we keep you out of sight, they won't have any.”

It was irrational. Surely they suspected he would try to escape sometime, but Skorik never took his eyes from him and his right hand never strayed from his hilt. At that moment, Errol had no choice but to go along. He donned a calculating look, hoped it seemed sufficiently avaricious. “I think I should get paid more for my part in this than the wages of the thirteenth. What do I get?”

Now speaking the language of money, he had Ru's interest. “We all have unique talents that we bring to the group, Errol. If you want to be paid more, all you have to do is challenge the guards above you.”

The extent of the man's greed surprised him. “What do I get paid for casting lots for you, Ru? What do I get for making you rich?”

Ru stepped close, the plastered smile gone, replaced by a sneer. “You get to live. And if you don't cast truly, I'll kill you myself.” He turned to Skorik. “Put him back in the wagon.”

Errol's stomach knotted. “When do I get to eat?”

The smile came back, fierce. “When you agree to my terms.”

He shrugged. Nothing would be gained by fighting Ru now. Errol would only lose and make his eventual escape that much more difficult. “I agree. When do you want me to cast lots?”

Ru squinted with suspicion as he answered. “At Leister. Rokha and I will go to the warehouses to meet the factors. Then we'll come back and tell you everything you need to know.”

“That will make casting the lots more difficult,” Errol said. How long a rein was the caravan master willing to give? “It would be better if I went as well.”

Ru barked a laugh. “Oh no, my boy. I think Skorik would get lonely here at camp without you to keep him company. If we have to draw the lots a few more times to find the best buyer, I'm more than willing. You'll be staying in my wagon from now on.”

Errol nodded. Naaman Ru had no intention of giving him even an incidental opportunity to escape. The rein was short, very short.

He stepped forward, between the two men.

“Where do you think you're going?” Skorik said.

“I've agreed to his terms,” Errol said. “I'm going to eat, and then I'm going to challenge Brelan Domiel for the twelfth.”

The caravan master threw back his head and laughed. “That's the spirit, boy. Skorik, please make sure you accompany Errol wherever he goes.”

Over the course of the three-day journey to Leister, Errol discovered a variety of activities Naaman Ru and Skorik permitted when he was not locked in Ru's wagon. He was forbidden to ride Midnight or any other horse but was permitted to walk—and while he walked they allowed him to work the forms with his
staff. His working the forms seemed to please Skorik. The first would watch him with a smile twisting his face to one side and his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. To Errol it seemed as if Skorik wanted a challenge.

In truth that was Errol's plan. He'd beaten Brelan with ease and the following night had defeated Hiram Abiff, the eleventh, almost as quickly. But things stalled after that. Santosh Carmona, the tenth, guarded the caravan on the last watch, from midnight to dawn. When the wagons stopped each night, Carmona was already asleep.

It seemed Errol would have to wait until the shifts changed before he would get a chance to challenge for his spot.

The next day, with Errol confined to Ru's wagon, the caravan rolled into Leister.

Ru wasted no time putting him to work. The caravan master opened the door and entered holding a dozen pine blanks. Rokha followed in his footsteps. Skorik stood outside with his sword in hand. Ru's daughter assayed a tentative smile in his direction, which he returned. Since their conversation he'd resolved to keep her as an ally if at all possible. Perhaps she would change her mind and help him to escape.

“There'll be time for you to talk to Rokha later, my boy,” Ru said, the greed in his eyes burning at a fever pitch. “Right now, there's money to be made. First we need to know which house will pay the highest price for our grain.” He laid out five of the blanks.

“Then we'll need to know which cargo to buy for the trip to Scarritt.” The caravan master put the remaining blanks aside.

Errol ignored the blanks. “You can't keep me here, Ru. Soon I'll be worthless, unable to cast lots for you even if I wanted.”

Ru's smile hardened. “I doubt that, boy. Your skill and my cunning will make me the richest man in the kingdom. I won't have to settle for being a count. By the time I'm done, Rodran will make me a duke.”

“You think so?” Errol made no effort to keep the scorn and
frustration from his voice. “You have no idea of the influence I am under. What do you think will happen when the church's compulsion takes me again? It's happened before. I won't even be able to hear you, much less cast. What will you do then, Ru?”

“Compulsion?” The caravan master's gaze snapped to his daughter. “Is this true?”

Rokha gave a curt nod, then stepped back.

Tension crackled between the three of them in the silence that followed. Then Ru looked at Errol as if seeing him for the first time. The caravan master raised an open hand. “Why didn't you tell me, daughter?”

“I tried, Father. On the day he challenged, I told you not to let him fight, that the caravan didn't want him.”

Ru struck, the crack loud in the confined space of his wagon. “You foolish girl. Where are your brains? The ferral was never after you. It's him they want.”

Rokha turned to Errol. “Is that true?”

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Probably. I'm sorry. I should have told you. Do you know what it feels like to be hunted?”

Ru drew his sword. “You owe me, boy, and I intend to collect. You're going to cast for me.” He stepped close, their noses almost touching. “You're going to cast right up to the day you go insane. Then I'm going to kill you.” The smile returned. “Now, let's begin making my fortune.”

After he'd completed the cast, Errol stretched as much as the low-ceilinged wagon would allow. “Is Skorik still outside?”

Ru nodded.

He brushed past him. “Excellent. I need to eat, and then I want to see if I can catch Santosh awake. Maybe after that I can challenge Vichay A'laras. I feel like swinging my staff tonight.”

“Fight if you wish, boy. I hope you climb high enough to challenge Skorik. I trained him myself. The beating he'd give you would begin to pay the debt of your deception.”

Errol caught up with Santosh at the wagon. The sleepy-eyed
Basqu nodded in acquiescence when Errol challenged him for his position.

From the start, Santosh fought as though he knew he couldn't win. Instead of attacking, he sought to keep Errol from getting close enough to land a winning blow. Each time the staff descended, he parried and circled, refusing to attack. Frustrated, Errol charged, feinted left, and then turned at the last instant. Santosh sought to parry a blow that no longer came from that direction.

With the sound of a fist striking a melon, Errol's staff hit Santosh on the head. The Basqu's eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.

Rokha, serving in her role as judge, bent and checked his throat for a pulse. Then she peeled back each eyelid. “He's fine.” She gave Errol a speculative look as she stood.

Errol turned to Vichay A'laras. The Gascon, light-haired with the angular features common to his people, took a pull from his tankard and, with a pointed look at Santosh, pulled his sword and dropped it on the ground. Then he turned his back and drank again.

“What does that mean?” Errol asked.

A'laras faced him. “I will tell you what tha' means,” he said. Like most Gascons he dropped the ends of many of his words. “Tha' means I have no intention of spendin' half the night unconscious on the ground. The ninth is yours.”

Before Errol could enjoy the moment, Skorik stood at his elbow, breath hot on his neck. “Not that you have much chance of it, runt, but I hope you make it far enough to challenge me. I'll enjoy the beating I'll give you.”

Errol only nodded, tried to put a fight with the first from his mind. His next step would be to challenge Onan and then Conger. The two men were the closest friends he had in the caravan, and if he managed to beat the two of them, he would challenge the sixth.

Rokha.