Altered Destiny (4 page)

He held the letter up to the candle, watching the flames consume the words penned by the king’s own hand. His father had been too cautious, too soft.

With the increased numbers, the Svistra no longer needed to strike at the smaller villages and run like dogs. Keldar would recover their ancestral territory, and more. He would be known throughout the land, revered by all. He only needed to complete the journey back into the Telige with his father’s body to set Tinlor’s spirit free, and then he would come back to these lands and take what was rightfully his.

Selia picked up the bucket holding the bowl of stew and then retrieved the lantern. When she reached for the door, the bowl clinked hard against the side of the bucket.
Damn it.
All she needed was to spill the bowl’s contents. There was only a little stew left, and she was hungry. Besides, both her hands were full. That wouldn’t do. Though the Svistra hadn’t tried anything with Oren, she wasn’t taking any chances.

Looping the bucket over her left arm, she transferred the lantern to that hand and reached for the door again. Taking dinner to the barn shouldn’t be so complicated.

Cold, drizzling rain misted her face and dampened her hair. Every year in late spring, as the land warmed, waves of sickness spread through the Outskirts. During the day, the steady rain turned the air as grey as the sky and muted the green of the surrounding forest. At night, the shadows deepened without the light of the stars or moon. It was a forbidding landscape.

Selia didn’t know if she was immune or if the Trickster was up to his games, but she never fell ill; this spring was no exception. Oren wasn’t so lucky. He’d woken with a hacking cough. When she climbed down the stairs that morning, she found him fevered and shivering under his blankets.

Many of the locals were sick or, after planting the spring crops, without the energy to journey to the tavern. But that didn’t stop the travelers. The day had been filled with muddy men with muddier boots in foul moods, steaming themselves dry before her fire.

The day before, a regiment of soldiers thundered up to her door. Selia repeated the mantra that her horse had taken ill and she didn’t know what was wrong with it, implying heavily that it could be contagious. A good horse meant life or death to a soldier.

The ruse worked. The soldiers let their horses huddle under the tavern’s overhang instead of insisting on the barn, and thank the gods the field behind the tavern was a sodden mess from the spring rains. The soldiers bunked down on the tavern floor and Oren had been able to sneak out to the barn.

Every day the inevitable drew closer, stretching her nerves to the breaking point. When Oberl had trudged in the tavern with a scowl, claiming his traps were all empty, the soldiers sent meaningful glances to one another. One of them spat, “Svistra.”

Another chimed, “Critters don’t like ’em any more than we do. Only they’re smarter. They leave.”

Selia glanced toward the forest. She hadn’t checked her traps to see if they suffered a similar fate, and she needed to. Martha frequently complained now about the scarcity of meat for their stew. Her steps slowed. She lowered the lantern and blinked the mist out of her eyes. She could just make out the darker shapes of the towering pine trees beyond the field. Could the scent of the Svistra in her barn be keeping food from her neighbors’ tables, or were there really other Svistra out there?

The desire to close her eyes overwhelmed her.
I’m tired. In no condition to face a Svistra.

The barn loomed before her. She felt a stab of guilt. Jaden hadn’t eaten since Oren took him supper the night before. With Oren sick and overnight guests, she hadn’t been able to risk leaving the tavern long enough to bring him food until now.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the barn door, one hand hovering over the knives strapped to her waist. The familiar scent of fresh hay, manure and horse washed over her as she lingered in the doorway, waiting.

After Jemima’s muffled greeting, the silence of the night continued into the barn except for the vague mewing of newborn kittens.

“Selia,” Jaden whispered from the darkness of the stall.

From the direction of his voice, the Svistra was still lying down.
Not a question
.
How did he know it was me and not Oren?
She remembered the hunting cat as she shut the barn door.
Were all of his senses more acute than hers?
“I’ve brought your food.”

“Is Oren well?”

“He’s caught a bit of a cold. Nothing serious, but I didn’t want him out in the rain.” She set the bucket on the floor outside the stall, then entered, and hung the lantern from a hook without taking her eyes from the Svistra. The bruises on his face had faded into a sickly yellow, a dull echo of his eyes.

“Wise. Have you tried eucalyptus? It’s quite good for the lungs.”

“I don’t need advice on how to take care of Oren.” Selia retrieved the stew from the bucket and re-entered the stall. She hadn’t tried it, actually. She used her mother’s mustard paste remedy, but perhaps eucalyptus would work.

Jaden took the bowl. “And I suppose it’s useless to repeat myself, but I’ve very little else to do these days.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Upon my honor, I won’t hurt Oren, or you. I owe you my life. That is a sacred debt.”

“I didn’t know the Svistra had any honor.”

“Of a sort.”

Damn it, he’d taken her by surprise again. Why couldn’t he just behave the way she expected?
Like an arrogant, bloodthirsty monster?
Would that really make things easier? She ignored the thought. “I suppose we’ll both be repeating ourselves then. I don’t need, or want, your advice or your debt.”

The Svistra inclined his head.

She took a deep breath. If he could play at being polite, so could she. “How are your ribs?”

“Healing, thank you.”

“Are you still in pain?”

His eyes smiled. “Only when I move.”

“When do you think you’ll—”

“A few days at most. I’ve been walking the length of the barn from time to time to build my strength.”

Selia involuntarily took a step back, bumping into the stall door.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone see or hear me. I’ve no desire to commit suicide, and I assure you, as soon as I can make it past the river, I’ll be gone. As I said, there’s not much to do in between waiting for Oren to bring my food.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to criticize him for being ungrateful but to her surprise she asked, “Do you read?”

“Yes.” His head tilted.

Had she surprised him? She reveled in an odd feeling of satisfaction to be on the giving end for a change. The Svistra had a knack for making her feel off-balance. “I have a few books.”

A gleam entered the Svistra’s eye. “Do you? That is a treasure. You read then?”

“My mother taught me.”

The Svistra’s smile unnerved her.

She needlessly adjusted the lantern. “I’ll bring you one if you like.”

“Very much.”

“I won’t let you have a lantern or a candle but…”

“No, it’s okay. I understand. Wouldn’t want to attract attention.”

She moved toward the stall door.

“There are more and more soldiers around, aren’t there?” he said softly.

“Yes.” How did he know?

A half smile turned his mouth. “I’ve heard their horses.”

She took a step closer. He heard horses? What did that have to do…?

His smile matured. “A soldier’s horse sounds different than your average farmer’s horse. For one thing, it is usually carrying a heavier load and underneath, there is always the sound of leather and metal that a farmer’s mount lacks.” He pointed his chin toward the last stall, where a lone horse stood staring at them with large brown eyes. “Besides, she perks up her ears at the local horses and ignores the rest.”

Selia almost smiled. “Chances are the local horses are her descendants. Jemima’s been around a long time. Are you part of the group of Svistra the soldiers were following?”

He shook his head. “I am part of no group.”

“But you know of them?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Then what are you doing here? The Svistra live farther north. They don’t journey south for no reason.”

“You seem to know a lot about Svistra habits.”

“Not enough, apparently.”

The silence stretched for several heartbeats. “I was and, as soon as I am able, will again attempt to track a particular band of Svistra.”

“Why?”

“Personal reasons that do not involve you or your safety.”

Personal reasons?
Selia backed out of the stall and shut the door behind her. She felt the Svistra’s gaze.

“How are you keeping the soldiers from putting their horses in the barn?”

“I told them Jemima was sick with something that may be contagious,” she answered.

“And that worked?”

“So far. Inlanders are skittish this close to the Wastes.” She met the golden gaze. “Several days ago an emissary from Newhaven gave me a little trouble but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Oren told me about him.”

She nodded. “I’ll bring you a book in the morning. Good night.”

“Good night. And Selia…”

She halted her step but didn’t turn around.

“Thank you for talking to me. It’s been pleasant.”

Selia hurried into the moist night air.

“Commander?”

“Yes?” Nathan looked up from the document he’d been reading to find a soldier waiting by the door. The man was so young Nathan doubted he’d sprouted his first chin hairs. He laid the paper on the desk in frustration and relief, letting the letters blur before his tired eyes. When he was promoted from captain to commander, no one had warned him how much reading and writing would be involved, or that his charges would be young enough to be his sons—if he’d taken another route and married. It was a good thing too; he might have reconsidered accepting.

The soldier fidgeted.

“You need to be elsewhere?” Nathan snapped.

“No. But sir, the king’s emissary waits.”

That’s right. Somewhere on his desk was a message to expect a viscount something or other. Nathan glanced once again at the parchments on his desk, and, next to them, to a map of the area. “Show him in.”

The soldier nodded and disappeared. Nathan didn’t think the viscount would like the news but if he was in a hurry for it, so be it.

The man who entered was nothing like Nathan expected. Portly, with an excess of three chins hanging over a stiff collar with far too many ruffles and laces to be practical, he took small mincing steps, the heels of his boots clicking against the wooden floor.

Nathan reached for the viscount’s hand, to squeeze soft flesh further cementing his opinion that the man had never worked a day in his life. He’d ridden a horse here from Newhaven? “I trust you had a pleasant journey.” He gestured for the man to sit and made a mental note to instruct the head groom to give the gallant horse an extra measure of oats.

The viscount glanced at the offered chair before sitting, as if he’d like to dust it first. Then he settled in such a way that Nathan feared for the integrity of the chair.

“Far from it. The weather is dismal, the lodging horrid. These lands are uncivilized. I even stopped at a tavern along the way, and the owner wouldn’t let me put my horse up in her barn. I had to sleep on the floor!”

And what the hell did you expect? This is Calud.
By an extreme act of will, Nathan held his tongue.

The viscount scanned Nathan’s office then sniffed. Nathan followed his gaze. The stone walls were bare of decoration and there was scarcely room for his desk and the two chairs facing it. The only change he’d made when he took the room as his office was to have the men lay down wood over the stone floor. He didn’t mind the walls, but if he had to spend so much time behind a godsdamned desk, it wouldn’t be with cold seeping through the soles of his boots.

Still, the small office was nothing to sniff at. His irritation mounted. He really wasn’t cut out to be a diplomat.

“Commander, I pray things are going well in our defense of these northern lands.” The viscount touched his nose with a lace-trimmed cloth.

No, they’re not, you pussyfooted, ignorant
…“Your Excellency, the Svistra have attacked and burned three more villages since the thaw.”

The emissary actually blushed. His small, porcine eyes gleamed. “Please, call me Fergus. Yes, yes, we’ve received that report but as there hasn’t been any news since, we’d hoped that it meant you’d chased these savages back north where they belong.”

Fergus? Didn’t that mean “strength”? The viscount’s parents had been wishful thinkers. Nathan ran one hand through his hair. Did they read the part of the report stating he hadn’t caught a single Svistra associated with those or any other atrocities?

Nathan tapped one of his letters. “There have been no further attacks in the last eighteen days and counting.”

Fergus’s smile stretched his chins until it looked like four smiles on his face. “We knew it! That is excellent news.”

“No. I don’t think so. You see, though they haven’t attacked, there have been reports of large bands in our lands.”

“Well, follow them and destroy them.”

“Have you ever tried to follow a Svistra?”

Fergus’s eyes widened as his mouth rounded. “Surely the rumors that they can disappear at will or turn into trees are false.”

“They might as well be able to. My best trackers can’t find them.”

“Then get new trackers. Incompetence is not an excuse.” Fergus fluffed one of his ruffles.

“Then perhaps I better employ a Svistra tracker. Because that’s what it will take.” Nathan struggled to lower his voice and failed. “King Leisle appointed me to this position because he thought I would be able to read the signs and best command his men. So you tell him I need more men. The Svistra are massing, and my instincts tell me it won’t be long before they swarm south like a blizzard, destroying everything in their wake.”

Fergus paled, his hand fluttering near his many chins. “T-the castle at Newhaven is of course secure?”

Nathan leaned back, clenched and then unclenched his jaw. “If I can’t stop them here, I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Oren’s cough carried down the hall, though with less force than it had a few days before. Selia pushed her hip against the door. “I brought you breakfast. Are you feeling better?”

“Yup. Can I get up now?”

She set down the tray on a wooden chest then felt Oren’s forehead. There was no sign of fever. “One more day?”

“Ah, Selia, it’s boring laying here doing nothing.”

“You could read.” She handed Oren a bowl of boiled oats.