Beyond the Prophecy (32 page)

“He’ll still have her patrols to worry about.”

Thekila nodded. “Yes, but without Gerusa to direct them.
It’s the best chance I can give him from here.”

Vatar circled his tower prison, peering through each of the
tiny windows he’d made in turn. The view hadn’t changed much all day, but he
still tried to glean any helpful information he could from it.

West and east were out, but he’d always known that. West lay
the ocean, barely visible on the horizon, and east was only more river. He
couldn’t escape that way. Or . . . well, possibly someone who wasn’t so close
to panic at the sight of all that water could, but not Vatar. North was where
he wanted to go, but the river delta spread farther on that side. Too far to
soar? South, now. South the far shore seemed much closer. And maybe the south
shore was less heavily patrolled. Though he wouldn’t want to count on that. But
he’d still have to find his way north somehow—and that would mean crossing the
river again. He was going to have to deal with water no matter what he chose.

He’d have preferred forest tigers. Well, except that he
didn’t have his spear, either. Not even his long knife. He could make new ones
of both but . . . the spear wouldn’t be the same one that had pierced a forest
tiger’s heart to save his life. The thought of
that
spear in the hands
of that Kausalyan guard captain galled like a burned hand.

Vatar?

Vatar slumped down next to the wall again in relief.
Thekila’s thoughts had been closed to him all morning, but he’d felt wild
swings in her emotions.
Thekila. What’s happening?

Thekila started by explaining what she knew or guessed of
Gerusa’s scheme
. So, here’s the plan. Teran and Terania are going to help me
spoil their plot. Between us, we’re going to mask her, so that her sabotage
doesn’t work, and simultaneously put on a show that will make this Festival
truly memorable—but not for the reasons Gerusa plans.

Vatar’s brow furrowed.
But that will support the Lie.

Thekila’s response was fierce.
I don’t care a fig about
the Lie. I do care about getting you out of there and back here with me.
However, we just might be able to make our masking shape changes—or, possibly a
full shape change or two—in such a way that it could at least be open to
interpretation, not necessarily confirming the Lie. Cestus will help us plan
that part tonight. The main point, though, is that we mean to keep Gerusa’s attention
riveted here. That should give you at least some edge in your escape, if you
time it for the same moment.

Vatar glanced back to the southern window, wishing he felt
more confident.
Maybe. I’m all for thwarting Gerusa’s plans, either way.

Have you decided anything about your escape? Which way
would be best to go?

Vatar stood up and looked out to the north again as if the
view would have changed. He sighed
. Looks like the southern shore is closer
than the northern one. But that’s not the way I want to go.

Thekila paused.
Well, but you could follow the river and
the lakeshore and make your way back to Orleus. He’d get you a horse. You could
ride north from there, couldn’t you?

Yes. It’s not that late in the season, yet. It’d take
longer, of course. Especially if I have to get to Tysoe on foot. Still . . . It
won’t be the way Gerusa would expect me to go
. Vatar paused, swallowed
.
Even to the south, it looks like the shore is more than a mile off. Do you
think I’ll be able to soar that far?

Well, I’ve had a thought about that, too. You can’t very
well take a practice flight, but you probably can still practice.

Vatar blinked.
How?

If you make the change into an eagle now, will you be
able to spread your wings completely?
Thekila asked.

Vatar measured the room with his eyes.
I think so.

Good. Then make the change and I’ll coach you on the
right movements of your wings and tail. That way, you’ll at least have an idea
what you’re doing tomorrow. It should help.

All right.
Remembering the one time he’d used this
Talent to change into a bear, and how much that had hurt, Vatar braced himself.
He started to picture an eagle and paused.
White or black, which would be
best?

For daytime, white. With luck, you’ll blend into the
clouds.

Oh, good idea.
Vatar drew the picture of a white
eagle clearly in his mind and tried to put himself into it. He expected the
resistance. He’d faced that every time he’d made a Transformation into anything
other than a lion. He pushed through anyway, expecting the pain to be next. But
there was only a mild discomfort this time. Was he just getting better at this?
Or was something else going on?

After a disorienting instant, he felt himself shift. And
blinked. Why did the room suddenly seem so much larger?
Uh, Thekila?

Yes.

Vatar tried not to let his pulse speed up in fear again.
He’d been through all of that last year and, in the end, everything had had a
perfectly—well not exactly a perfectly
rational
explanation—but at least
an explanation.
I think something strange has happened again.

Oh?
She prodded.

I don’t seem to be as big as I expected.

Thekila drew in a sharp breath.
Are you the size of a
normal eagle?

Vatar spread his wings and cocked his head to look from one
wing tip to the other.
It’s hard to tell from the inside, but I don’t think
so. More . . . remember the really big vultures in the mountains?

The condors. Yes.

Vatar looked from wing tip to wing tip again to be sure,
measuring the distance from the walls.
I think I’m about that size.

Well, that’ll make things easier.

But . . . why?

Thekila paused a moment and then offered, tentatively,
Maybe you’ve gotten a little help from the Spirit of the Eagle through our
bond?

Vatar breathed out.
That . . . makes a certain amount of
sense.
He gave his pulse a moment to return to normal. Not completely
strange magic, after all.
So, what do I do now?

Now, I’m going to help you figure out how to use those
wings, and your tail, to soar across that river tomorrow. If things go the way
I expect, I’ll be fairly busy during your first flight. So let’s cover the
basics now. Start by spreading out your wings. Now, once you’re soaring, the
way you tip your wings, spread your flight feathers, and use your tail will
determine your flight path. Let’s take them one at a time to start.

For the rest of the afternoon, Thekila led Vatar through
drills of the complex movements needed to soar—let alone fly. No wonder she
said it had taken her and Quetza so long to learn to fly. When his wings
started to feel like they had lead weights attached to them, she stopped and
told him to release the Transformation.
We don’t want you to be too stiff to
fly tomorrow, after all.

Back in his true shape, Vatar rubbed his stiff shoulders.
Agreed.

All right, then. Try to rest up. And prepare a spot in
that western wall where you’ll be able to get out tomorrow.

Vatar flinched.
Won’t that drain Power from you?

You only borrow that ability. It’s not like your shield
which draws its energy from me. I can feel when you do it, but it’s more like
feeling your emotions.

Vatar blew out a breath. He really didn’t want to draw much
power from Thekila. Especially not now.
That’s good.

Be prepared tomorrow. Cestus thinks the Festival
procession will reach the main market at around midmorning. I could wish it
would be a little later. But there still should be a rising air current around
your tower. I’ll let you know when. And remember, if you get into trouble, you
can call on Quetza for advice, even from a distance. I’ll alert her to be
ready.

Vatar held onto the full weight of their bond just a little
longer, putting all of his heart into it.
Until tomorrow. I love you.

I love you, too.

Vatar settled down against the northern wall again and
started using the Power borrowed from Thekila to loosen the mortar holding
together the stones of the far wall. Carefully. He’d rather not bring the roof
of this tower crashing down on his head. If it crashed through to the Council
chamber below after he was gone . . . well, that’d be their worry. Too much to
hope that Gerusa would be in the Council chamber at that point, or he’d try to
make sure the roof did collapse.

Thekila made sure they left the farm early, just after first
light. Her position as Vatar’s wife would win them all places on the walls of
the Smiths’ Guildhall from which to watch the Festival procession, but they
needed to arrive early enough to claim a spot overlooking the main market. They
needed a good view if this was going to work.

If she was wrong—if Selene didn’t try anything during the
procession—then Thekila would just give Vatar the cue to attempt his escape
anyway after the parade left the market square. But, if she was right, then
everything had to be timed precisely for the plan to work. She really didn’t
think that today would prove her wrong, though. A touch of Fore Sight borrowed
from Vatar? Even he couldn’t be sure of that, other than to say it
felt
true. So did this.

She craned over the wall as the procession, led by Veleus,
as his ancestor Tabeus, wound into the square. How much would Selene’s betrayal
hurt him? Should she have at least tried to prepare him for the possibility
instead of letting it all come as a dreadful surprise? Thekila sighed. Too late
to do anything about it now.

The pageant was more strung out than she remembered from last
year. Trying to appear bigger than it actually was? The last platform emerged
into the crowded market square from the winding narrow street opposite just as
Veleus rode up to the gates of the guildhall. It looked like they were trying
to space them out so that only one occupied the center of the square at a time.
Thekila smiled. That might have been a suggestion of Selene’s, to enhance the
effect of whatever she was about to do. But it would also play right into
Thekila’s plans.

Thanks to Cestus’s hurried tutorial, she recognized
Selene—or the Sea God Selene impersonated—carried along next to last. Her eyes
darted around the crowd, picking out Cestus and Miceus among the throng, ready.

As soon as Selene reached the center of the square, her
Transformation wavered and then dropped completely. The nearest Caereans began
to mutter and back away. The bearers to the rear of her platform must have
noticed something, because they stumbled to a ragged halt, causing the platform
to tilt dangerously before the bearers in front stopped, too. Cestus and Miceus
closed in. Thekila drew in a deep breath and nodded to Teran and Terania.
Now,
she thought the imperative to Vatar even as she began her own masking shape
changes.

Teran and Terania, working in concert, created what appeared
to be a fountain of blue-green sea water, flecked with sparkling white foam,
rising out of the center of the market square. Right below Selene. The bearers
stood frozen in shock. Thekila created the image of Farlene, washed to the top
of that column of water. It was impressive. It also masked what was going on
behind that image of a towering fountain of water.

Cestus and Miceus converged from either side and grabbed
Selene, hauling her off her platform. While Cestus held her, Miceus pulled off
the heavy, bejeweled ceremonial robe and tossed it back onto the seat. Then
Miceus moved to take Selena’s arm with his good one and together, he and Cestus
marched her out of the square and back toward the Temple while everyone’s
attention was riveted on the fountain and the Sea God resting upon it.

Once Cestus and Miceus—and their prisoner—were safely clear,
Teran and Terania allowed their fountain image to slowly sink back down toward
the cobblestones of the marketplace. Thekila allowed her masking shape change
to settle back into the seat of the platform. With a nod, she seamlessly passed
off the shape change to Terania.

Then, behind the screen provided by the bodies of Teran and Terania,
she flowed into the form of a snowy-white eagle. If Thekila was to maintain
this fake image of the Sea God until the end of the Festival, she’d need to
keep that platform in sight. She leapt into the air and, as soon as she had the
altitude to remain mostly hidden from the crowd that was intent on things
closer to the ground, she took the Sea God’s image back from Terania and
followed the platform that now started once again on its stately progress.

Vatar drew in a deep breath at the shout of
Now
through his bond with Thekila. He borrowed enough of her Power to push out the
stones he’d loosened last night, opening a hole in the far wall roughly big
enough for him to step through. He closed his eyes briefly in concentration as
he shifted into the shape of a large—but not huge—white eagle.

In that shape he—well, not walked—hopped awkwardly up to the
opening and looked out. Down seemed a long way off. He swallowed and tried to
remind himself that that was a good thing. He could soar farther—hopefully.

With another deep breath, he launched himself from the ledge
and spread his wings. And dropped so fast and far he almost swallowed his
heart. Then, finally, the air current caught his wings and lifted him up, as
Thekila had said it would. He drew a couple of deep, steadying breaths and
tried to remember all the movements Thekila had taught him. Tipping his wings,
he spiraled upward around the tower, trying to regain the altitude he’d lost.

As he wheeled, he caught a glimpse down at the ground. The
sharp eyes of the eagle picked out a lot of upturned faces down there. Would
they take him for some oversized sea bird? He could only hope. No. By the sight
of all the fallen rocks, blown out of the wall of his tower prison, likely not.
Maybe he should have pulled those rocks to the inside instead. But that would
have taken so much longer.

One of those men drew a bow and shot upward at him. The
arrow fell back harmlessly before it ever reached Vatar’s elevation. Still,
it’d probably be best not to linger for another attempt. Time to disappear,
then. Or, at least, try.

On his next spin around the tower, Vatar turned off and
aimed for the nearest shore. Unfortunately, too many of those upturned faces
followed him. And one of them looked too much like that guard captain who’d
brought him here day before yesterday. He angled his wings and tail, trying to
wring some extra speed from his soaring. Thekila had impressed on him the
futility of trying to actually fly without a lot more practice. Without a tail
wind, speed seemed to be tied to loss of altitude, though, so he leveled off,
accepting the slower speed. At least anyone trying to follow him on the ground
would have to wind through the crooked, curving streets of Kausalya and then through
the canals connecting the separate channels of the river here. Maybe that would
be enough of an advantage.

Soaring, even without trying to speed up, was faster than
Vatar would have guessed. It only
looked
slow and lazy from the ground.
But as soon as he crossed from the island over the first channel of the river,
he lost the rising air current and started to drop. Was he going to be able to
make it to the far side? As he crossed the fields between the river branches,
he found another air current—not as strong, but at least enough to keep him
airborne. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

He had no concentration to spare for worrying over whether
that guard captain or anyone else might be trying to follow him. Vatar had all
he could do just to keep soaring, losing more altitude every time he crossed
the river. By the time he was nearing the far shore, he was dangerously low.
Too low to catch any kind of an updraft. And his arms—
er
,
wings—ached. This was going to be much too close.

Against Thekila’s instructions, Vatar flapped, trying to
stay at least man-height above the river channel. That was a mistake. He lost
what little lift he still had and barely kept himself from tumbling tail over
beak. Realizing that he was about to land
in the river
, he barely
remembered what Thekila had told him about using his tail to land. He shuddered
as he splashed into the water. Upright, at least. Not head down and
drowning—barely. The wrenching pain in his leg probably wasn’t a good sign,
though.

Vatar released his concentration and discovered that he’d
gotten at least close enough to the shore that the water was only chest high on
his human form. He pushed his way out of the clutches of the river as quickly
as his legs would move, ignoring the pain flaring in his knee at every step.
Then he lay gasping on the muddy bank. He sat up long enough to pull his
trouser leg up to get a look at his knee. Nothing broken—and he supposed he
should be grateful it was his knee and he hadn’t re-broken his ankle instead. Still,
this was definitely going to slow him down. Without a knife, he had to use his
teeth to tear a strip from his tunic—which, perhaps fortunately, had gotten
pretty ragged—to wrap the injured joint. That would help keep the swelling
down, but not much more.

It was some time before Vatar could force himself back to
his feet and stagger along the river bank, wishing for better cover than that
offered by the seemingly endless fields of grain. If he could find decent
cover, maybe he could rest a bit. Not here, though. If he could make it to one
of the scattered stands of trees, he might find something he could use as a
crutch.

~

Late in the afternoon, Vatar swung wide, away from the river
bank, to avoid a guard post, twin to the one where he’d been loaded onto a
river boat for transport to Kausalya. If it had been night, or even twilight,
he might have lingered with the thought of trying to steal a horse. What he
needed most now was to put distance between himself and the territory claimed
by Kausalya. He’d certainly make better time on horseback than afoot,
especially with a bad knee. There was still too much daylight for such a raid,
though. Too risky.

He splashed across a creek, wending its way toward the
larger river, the third such shallow water course he’d had to cross since
landing. With such sources of water available, would it be better to keep this
distance from the river as he made his way eastward? It wasn’t as if he
couldn’t reliably find east without needing to follow the river. He tried to
recall the maps of the area he’d seen. He was going to have to swing south to
pass around the southern shore of Lake Narycea anyway. It would likely be
quicker not to try to follow the sinuous line of the river and lakeshore in any
case. And maybe he’d run less risk of being seen.

His stomach, empty since a loaf of stale bread that morning,
rumbled. It was probably a three or four day ride from Kausalya to Tysoe.
Longer on foot, even without his injury. He was going to have to stop at some
point and build either a fish trap or a rabbit snare, as chance allowed. He
grimaced at the thought. Without even a knife, cooking either would be
impossible. And he didn’t dare build a fire, not out in the open like this.
Much too easy for any pursuers to find him that way. But . . . raw? That idea
quelled his hunger with a wave of nausea.

He was saved from that by finding a few wild onions growing
along one of the streams. Not by any means his favorite food by itself. Still,
it could be harvested and eaten without the need of a knife and it would keep
him going for a few hours more. The camas that grew nearby would have been
better, but that had to be cooked and not just for an hour or two, either.

He eased the crutch out from under his arm. The only
suitable branch he’d been able to find was a few finger-widths too long. But,
without a knife, he had no way to cut it down. At least he’d been able to
harvest a little willow bark in that stand of trees. The taste was nasty, but
it helped mask the pain in his knee. And the onions would help mask the taste
of the bark. He squatted to get a drink of water from his cupped hands.

If he could once get to the forested shores of Lake Narycea,
he might find more options. And enough cover to allow him to rest in relative
safety. Then he’d contact Orleus with Far Speech. Orleus knew every inch of
that ground. And he could bring or send a horse. It’d be far enough from
Kausalya not to put Orleus or whoever he sent in danger in order to help Vatar.

He raised his head at the sound of hoof beats. He hadn’t
reached out to Orleus yet, but maybe Thekila had. No. The hoof beats came from
behind him. He spun around on his good leg to see three of the Kausalyan guard
riding toward him. No place to hide, even if he hadn’t already been seen. No
use trying to outrun horses, either. Vatar braced himself and stood his ground.
What else was there to do? He drew a couple of steadying breaths.

The horsemen slowed and spread out. This time, they’d come
at him all at once and from more than one direction.

What’s happening?
Thekila’s voice asked in his mind.

I think I’m about to be captured again.
He gave her a
quick summary of the situation.

How many are there?
She asked.

Only three, but they’re mounted and armed and I’m
neither.

Of course you are. You’re never unarmed. Use your shield.
Use the rocks as weapons if you have to.

Vatar shook his head.
The shield draws its power from
you. And I’m not there to see that you’re safe.

You don’t need it for long. I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll let
you know if it becomes too much. I really don’t think I could hide that from
you anyway.

Vatar watched the riders approaching. Rocks. Well, he could
use the rocks without endangering Thekila in any way, at least. That was a good
idea. The horsemen were already not much farther than the distance he’d worked
at when clearing the shipping channel, but far enough that they would think
themselves well out of range of even a bow.

He tore his eyes away long enough to locate a nice-sized
roundish rock from the stream side. He lifted it with borrowed Power and then
sent it flying with as much force as he could muster at the rider on the left.
It hit with a meaty
thunk
in the center of the man’s
chest, knocking him backward off his horse, where he lay stunned. One down, for
a while, at least.

The other two were almost upon him now, though. He
recognized the one in the middle as that same guard captain who’d captured him
before. Carrying Vatar’s own spear—currently leveled at Vatar’s chest. Vatar
would deal with him last. He threw up his shield to block the captain and chose
another rock to
throw
at the rider on the right. The rider jerked the
reins at the last moment, so that the rock missed the rider, but hit the horse
square in the haunch. The horse bolted, carrying its rider along with it.

Only one left, now. The odds were getting better. Vatar
dropped his shield and dodged around the loose horse of the first rider,
ignoring the pain in his knee. While the captain fought to wheel his horse
around, Vatar swung up into the saddle. Now they were both mounted. The captain
still had the advantage of being armed—and with Vatar’s spear. But . . . now
that was odd. The spear point wavered more than it should. It actually looked
like the captain was fighting to keep the point centered on Vatar. Almost like
the spear was fighting against that target. Or maybe the captain just wasn’t
used to a spear with that much weight. The spearhead had been specially
designed to pierce the thick hide of a Forest tiger, after all.

A wild thought struck Vatar. The idea didn’t even have to be
true as long as he could make his opponent believe it. “You know, I forged that
spear myself. I sang power into as I worked the metal—protection and defense.
Protection specifically for me and my friends. I think you might find it
difficult to use that blade against me.”

The captain looked at the spear as if it had come alive in
his hand. He glowered, switched the spear to his left hand, and drew his sword
instead. “You didn’t forge this blade.”

Vatar cocked his head to one side. “No. I didn’t. But, you
know, speaking as one who’s had some training, you’re going to find it
difficult to do much with that sword as long as you’re still holding onto the
spear with your other hand. It’ll throw off your balance. Besides making it
difficult to control your horse.”

With a growl, the captain tossed the spear aside and spurred
forward aiming a blow at Vatar’s head with the sword. Vatar threw up his shield
again, blocking the sword and spurred forward. He leaned out of the saddle to
scoop up the spear, almost like playing jarai, and turned to face the captain,
grinning. “Now things are more equal.”

He aimed the spear at the captain’s chest. In his hand, the
blade didn’t waver at all. And the spear gave him a much longer reach than the
other man’s sword. The captain watched that point for a moment before turning
his horse and galloping for his camp.

Vatar breathed out a sigh of relief. He dismounted briefly
to check the man he’d hit with a rock. Breathing, but not easily. Well, his
medical treatment was well beyond Vatar’s capabilities even if he could afford
to stop. Hopefully the third guard would circle back once he got control of his
horse. By which time, Vatar had better be long gone. He slid the man’s knife
out of its sheath. The spear made an excellent weapon, but he wouldn’t want to
try to skin a rabbit or gut a fish with it.

Then he remounted and rode for the nearest cover—a stand of
trees not too far off.